Slow Hands
by rebel16
Summary: rated m for sexual content in a few chapters read the inside to find out the story
1. prolouge

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story**_

_Prologue_

"OH, MY GOD, I CAN'T DO THIS, it's hopeless! We're not going

to be able to pull it off."

Penny Rausch heard the panic in her partner's voice and

Struggled to keep her own alarm under control. One of them had

to stay calm. Otherwise they were both going to lose their

minds…not to mention their fledgling graphic design business.

"Calm down. We're almost there."

Janice, her partner and more-than-slightly ditzy younger

sister, thrust her hand into her spiked blond hair, sending it into

even more crazy directions than it had been before. A highly

sought-after graphic designer, Janice had no head for business,

but wow, was the girl creative…and not just with her hair. Her

graphics were incredible. Her drawings collectible. Her fashion

sense wildly imaginative.

Too bad she was pretty helpless in nearly every other aspect

of her life.

"I dropped the file. The last six photos went everywhere. Just

shoot me now."

She looked utterly exhausted, with dark circles under her

eyes and a haggard hollowness in her cheeks. Janice was usually

very precise about her appearance, but right now her yellow

T-shirt was stained with something that was either ketchup

from today's fries or tomato sauce from last night's pizza.

They hadn't left their office in thirty-six hours. Not since

_8 Slow Hands_

Janice's expensive, nearly brand-new computer had crashed,

taking most of the files for the high-end, glossy brochure they

were producing down with it. And almost taking down their

company, too.

Because if they lost this job—creating the programs for a ritzy

charity bachelor auction scheduled for next week—they were

finished. They wouldn't make the already-late rent, or keep the

power on, or cover the printing bill. They'd be out of business

overnight, after only being _in _it for eight months.

"We can handle this," Penny insisted. "We've come this far,

we're almost there."

"Maybe we could contact Mrs. Baxter…"

"No. Absolutely impossible." They could not let the snooty

Junior League socialite know they'd had yet _another _mishap in

the design job. No way. They were already on probation, thanks

to a few hiccups—like Janice's case of the flu and a flood in the

office. If they admitted to the computer crash, the woman would

kick them to the curb for good.

"I can't even tell them apart anymore," Janice wailed, waving

toward the table laden with photographs and copy. "Looking at

one gorgeous man after another, hour after hour…"

"Tough job."

"It's not funny. I thought we were in the clear when we found

the backup set of hard copies. _Why _didn't we put the bachelors'

info on the back when we made them?"

The biographies of the bachelors being auctioned off to

support Chicago's needy children had been on the backs of the

originals. But the originals had gone back to the penny-pinching

auction organizer, Mrs. Baxter, once they'd been copied and

scanned. Now they had the scans on disc, and they had the hard

duplicates. They even had the printed biographies.

They just didn't have any of those things _together. _And they

had no way of knowing who was who.

_Leslie Kelly 9_

If not for some easily identifiable, well-known bachelors,

some handwritten notes, as well as Google, which they'd

accessed on Penny's still-working laptop, they would have had

to give up. But not now. _We're not giving up now_.

"We're down to those last six men, Janice," Penny insisted,

bending to pick over the spilled photos. She laid them out on the

worktable, grabbing the small index cards with the bios. "And I

just identified four of them."

Janice's eyes widened in delight. "Really?"

Penny nodded, putting the correct bio cards with the correct

faces, clipping them together in case there were any more spills.

"I have spent the past five hours looking at archives in the _Trib_

and I've found more of our boys. Eligible bachelors apparently

get a lot of press coverage."

Janice threw her arms around Penny and squeezed her. "So

we're down to these last two."

Yes. Just two. "But we're out of have less than an hour

to get the whole package to the printer's if we're going to make

the deadline." _No more time to research…no more hesitation._

Penny lifted the two photographs, studying the handsome

faces carefully. Both were dark-haired, but that was where the

resemblance ended. One had warm brown eyes, the other vivid

blue. One's hair was short and conservative, the other's a little

longer, almost brushing his collar. One had a dangerous glint in

his eye, the other a sexy smile on his curved lips.

"One is a paramedic, the other an international businessman,"

Penny whispered, knowing their bios by heart. "One of you is

Zane and one of you is Sean."

Janice came closer, looking over Penny's shoulder. Penny

could almost feel her sister's heartbeat just inches from her arm.

She could _definitely _hear her deep, quick inhalations.

This was the moment—she had to choose. Suddenly remembering

that old Lady or the Tiger story from her school days, she

_10 Slow Hands_

drew in a deep breath and pointed to the unsmiling one with the

short hair and brown eyes. "He's got to be the businessman."

Beside her, Janice immediately nodded, pointing toward the

other picture with the smiling, longer-haired guy. "And that's a

strong rescue worker if I ever saw one."

"So we're agreed?"

"Agreed. Absolutely. No doubt about it."

Then it was done. Penny clipped the bios to the back of each

picture, glad her sister was just as confident as she was that

they'd made the right choice. Then she sat down to finish up the

program on her own, older computer. And as she typed away as

fast as she could, incorporating the newly recreated graphics, she

tried hard to pretend she didn't hear her younger sister's whisper.

"I hope."


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_1_

"OUR STEPMOMMY DEAREST is about to buy herself a gigolo."

Rikki Chadwick, who'd been signing a foot-tall stack of

documents at her desk, dropped her pen, leaving a blot of black

ink on the second quarter Profit and Loss Statement from a

major local firm. Looking up, she could muster no surprise when

she realized her sharp-toned visitor was her older half sister,

Tabitha, looking as enraged as she sounded.

Enraged…but beautiful, as always. The stunning fashion plate

had inherited all her mother's tall and slender genes, blond hair and

elegance, which suited her lifestyle to a T. Rikki, meanwhile,

had been gifted with their father's more short and round frame, plus

her late mother's nearly black hair; dark, laughing eyes and dimples.

Which did _not _suit her lifestyle as a nose-to-the-grindstone

bank manager to an R or a squiggly S, much less to a T.

Tabitha tossed her designer handbag onto an empty chair and

kicked the door shut with the heel of one pointy-toed, fivehundred-

dollar shoe. "Rikki, did you hear me?"

"I think the construction workers twenty floors down heard

you," Rikki mumbled, wondering why Tabitha always had

to be so damned melodramatic. Something else she'd inherited

from her jet-setting mother.

"The money-grubbing witch is going to cheat on our father."

Considering Tabitha had cheated on one of her husbands _and_

one of her fiancés, Rikki figured her sister had better jump off

_12 Slow Hands_

that moral high ground upon which she was perched before it

crumbled out from underneath her. Still she frowned, not happy

with the news that their father's newest wife—his fourth—was

already looking around for more adventure than her older

husband could provide.

Tabby might loathe Deborah, but Rikki had never had

anything against her. The woman wasn't exactly warmth personified,

especially not to her adult stepdaughters, but she was a lot

better than some of the alternatives. Their father could have

married a twenty-five-year old…someone younger than Rikki

or her sister. At least Deborah, aside from being in her forties,

was well-spoken, graceful and successful. She had once run her

own successful ballroom dancing studio—that's where she'd

met Rikki's father—and seemed to make him happy, first as a

dance partner, now as a wife.

So she really hoped Tabby was wrong. "How do you know

this?"

"I got it straight from Bitsy Wellington."

Their stepmother's best gal pal. "Why would she tell _you_?"

"Well, you know Bitsy. She can never resist causing trouble."

True. The woman was completely toxic.

"Besides, she wants the man for herself. He's some European

gigolo being auctioned off at that Give A Kid A Christmas

charity gig at the InterContinental tomorrow night."

A gigolo being sold to benefit a children's charity. There was

some serious irony in that. Leave it to the Ladies Who Lunch of

Chicago to come up with the idea of buying a stud to raise

money for a worthy cause. And then, to compete over him.

Tabitha lowered herself to one of the chairs across from

Rikki's broad desk, sniffing slightly at the messy files strewn

across it. Her big sister liked the money that came from the bank

their great-grandfather had founded several decades ago. She just

didn't particularly like the stench of work that came along with it.

_Leslie Kelly 13_

Sometimes Rikki wondered if one of them had been

adopted. Or found on a doorstep. They had _so _little in common

with each other, physically as well as everything else.

In personality, she was told she was a lot like her mother,

Jason Chadwick's second wife, who'd died when Rikki was four.

Supposedly, though he never spoke of her, Jason had mourned

her greatly. Which could explain why her sister always harassed

Rikki about being their father's favorite.

Maybe it was just that they had more in common. Aside from

looking more like Jason than Tabby did, Rikki was also blessed

with his quick mind, one fascinated by banking and finance. She

also had the work ethic to run the business that had been in the

family for generations.

That didn't mean Tabitha hadn't gotten something from their

father, too—his fickleness. Rikki seemed to be the only Chadwick

who didn't fall in and out of love as frequently as the networks

changed their Friday night lineup.

"We have to _do _something."

"About what?"

"About the little cheater, that's what!"

Rikki sighed, lowered her pen, and leaned back in her chair.

"But she hasn't cheated yet, has she?"

"No…and we're going to make damn sure she doesn't."

Frankly, her sister's attitude came as a surprise. Considering

how strongly Tabitha disliked their father's new wife,

Rikki would have figured Tabitha would want Deborah to

cheat, and get _caught_. Her father would tolerate a lot when it

came to his wives—spending money, demanding attention and

throwing tantrums. But he would never tolerate being cheated

on. As a few of his former loves could certainly attest. Tabitha's

mother included.

"I'm surprised you haven't hired a detective to follow her and

get the goods yourself."

Tabitha frowned, shifting her pretty blue eyes away to study

her perfectly manicured nails.

"You have? Jesus, Tabby…"

"Look, it was stupid, and I changed my mind almost right

away. I don't want to catch the bitch cheating."

"You don't?"

Her sister finally lifted her eyes, and in them was a hint of

genuineness, an emotion Tabitha didn't often let the world see,

but which Rikki knew lurked beneath her sister's polished,

shiny, brittle surface. "He loves her, Mad. Really loves her and

she makes him so happy. It's like he's twenty years younger."

She swallowed, murmuring, "I don't want him hurt. _Again._"

Wow. That stunned her. So much that she couldn't reply for

a minute. Because while she completely understood the sentiment—

and felt the same way—she wouldn't have expected it

of Tabitha.

Then she remembered the one area where she and her sister were

absolutely, one hundred percent alike: in their love for their father.

She lowered her pen to her desk, finally giving her sister her

undivided attention. "Okay. What do you propose we do?"

Tabitha dissembled for a moment, glancing around the room,

at the few framed photos on Rikki's bookshelf—all family—

at the plants in the corner and the view of the Chicago skyline

out the window.

She wasn't going to like this, Rikki knew. Tabitha had the

same look she'd had when they were nine and twelve and her

big sister had suggested they "borrow" their new stepmother's—

wife three's—Dior gowns to play house. And Rikki had the

same reaction—the similar twitch in her temple and the sweatiness

in her palms she'd experienced on that day.

One thing was sure…sweat wouldn't wash any better out of

her Chanel suit _now _than it had out of Dior _then_.

"Tabby?"

Her sister finally met her stare, appearing almost defiant.

"It's simple, really."

The twitching intensified. The moisture on her palms could

water the office plants for a week. "Oh?"

"Yes. She can't cheat on our father with the guy if somebody

outbids her." With a smile that showed off the twenty-thousanddollar

smile their father had bestowed upon his oldest daughter,

Tabitha continued.

"_You _buy the gigolo."

PARAMEDIC ZANE WALLACE had faced death dozens of times

since he'd started working with Chicago FD's 4th Battalion five

years ago. He'd responded to fires and shootings, to brawls and

domestic abuse calls. To riots and hostage standoffs. He'd treated

heart attacks, drowning victims and people two steps past death

who'd miraculously taken three steps back into existence.

He'd once talked a whacked-out druggie into letting him take

his injured girlfriend—whom said druggie had stabbed—out of

their house for emergency treatment. And he'd then gotten

chewed out by his lieutenant for not following protocol by

waiting for the Chicago P.D. to handle it. Right—as if he was

going to let her die.

None of those situations had intimidated him.

But this? This scared the hell out of him.

"Why did I ever agree to get involved with this?" he muttered.

One reason. Because he owed his lieutenant big and his lieutenant

owed the chief big and the chief's wife loved this particular

pet charity. End of story. Which was why two of his buddies

from the battalion had already taken their turns under the spotlight.

"I've been asking myself the same thing," a stranger's voice

replied.

Zane tugged helplessly at the bow tie that was choking him

and glanced at Bachelor Number Eighteen, the one right before

_him_. The other man looked just about as happy to be here as Zane,

which was saying a lot. Because Zane would just as soon give

CPR to a toothless octogenarian with halitosis than stand up on

stage and be bid on by a bunch of rich, horny women with way

too much time on their hands and too little self-respect. Or selfcontrol.

"I _should _feel better about it," he said, trying to convince

himself more than the other final few "bachelors" waiting for

their turn on the block. "It is for a good cause, right? So I suffer

a few minutes' embarrassment and a bad date. It's worth it."

Number Twenty offered a jaded smile as he leaned indolently

against a column in the backstage area that had been set up for

this evening's event. The guy looked almost bored, and Zane

envied him his calm. "What, you don't enjoy having women

'paying' for your services?" The voice held amusement, and a

hint of a foreign accent, possibly Irish.

Maybe European dudes were more at ease playing meat-onparade.

But this all-American rescue worker most definitely was

not. "You _do_?"

Number twenty smiled as he checked his sleeves, the gold

sheen of expensive cuff links flashing beneath the obviously

pricey, tailored tux. Zane would lay money it was not rented.

"It can be…entertaining." This guy's suit and demeanor said

he had money enough to donate to worthy causes on his own.

But the longish hair scooped back into a black ponytail said he

also liked to live dangerously.

So did Zane. But he got quite enough thrills out of putting his

ass on the line at emergency scenes, thank you very much. He

didn't particularlywant to put it out there to be appraised, pinched,

ogled or catcalled over by a bunch of strange women.

The other man continued. "Besides, as you said, it's for a good

cause."

_Right. Good cause. Kids. I like kids. Don't have any, don't_

_really want any for a few more years, but they're cute in a longdistance_

_way. As long as they're not sticking raisins up their_

_noses or falling down into sewer drains or following the family_

_cat up a tree._

Okay, so maybe he didn't like kids so much. Not enough to

go through this humiliation.

Then he thought about his own baby niece and twin nephews.

There was nothing he wouldn't do to make sure they remained

the safe, healthy munchkins they were.

Damn. He was going to have to go through with it.

Tugging again at the too-tight collar of his own rent-a-tux,

Zane peered through a crease in the black cloth curtains, eyeing

the audience. The elegant ballroom was packed with round,

white-draped tables, around which sat dozens of women in

gowns and shimmery cocktail dresses. Laughter and gossip

reigned supreme as they tossed back fruity Cosmos or sparkling

champagne. They all watched hungrily, calling out bawdy suggestions

as the raucous bidding continued for Bachelor Seventeen,

who was currently center stage.

Well, all except one. A brunette who stood about ten feet away

from the curtain he was peeking through. She drew his eye as

he scanned the crowd…then drew it again. And this time, he let

his gaze linger.

She was almost shadowed by one of the giant standing spotlights,

which cast gaudy, unforgiving pools of light on the spectacle

occurring on the stage. But what he saw of her was

definitely enough to pique his interest.

First because she had some wicked curves. She wasn't a tall

stick figure in a little black dress like half the women here.

Instead she was petite, very rounded with the kind of full

curves—generous hips and lush breasts revealed in a low-cut,

silky blue dress—that weren't currently fashionable but made his

heart pick up its pace and his recently dormant cock come awake

in his pants.

Nor did she have bottled blond hair swept up in a complicated

hairdo like the other half of the audience. No, hers was dark and

thick, with long curls that fell in disarray past her shoulders. The

look was wildly seductive, as if she'd just left her bed rather than

an exclusive Michigan Avenue beauty salon.

Earthy, sultry, not at all restrained. The woman was sexy in a

way that women didn't seem to _allow _themselves to be sexy

anymore.

Her looks, however, merely started the fire in his gut. Her untouchable,

out-of-place demeanor stoked it until it almost

engulfed him.

The brunette wasn't laughing it up with her rich gal pals, or

tossing back Manhattans while turning her hand to make sure

her diamond rings showed to their greatest flashy advantage. In

fact, if he had to guess, he'd say she looked almost disapproving,

even tense. He couldn't see her face very well, though he

got a glimpse of a stiff little jaw, lifted up in visible determination.

And her back was military straight.

He sensed she was keeping it that way intentionally, as if she

didn't dare let her guard down lest she be distracted from

whatever mission she'd set for herself.

As if realizing she was being watched, the woman glanced

around, turning her head enough to cast her face in a bit of light

spilling off the stage. Enough to highlight the creamy skin, the

curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips and the dark flash of her

eyes.

_Beautiful_.

Zane's hands clenched into fists at his sides. Though she

couldn't possibly see him and was in no way mirroring his

reaction, hers did the same.

She clenched out of visible concentration that seemed to swirl

around her, creating a no-fly zone between her and everyone else

in the room.

He clenched out of pure lust.

He hadn't had sex in a while—not since breaking up with a

woman he'd been dating last winter. And nobody had as much

as given him a quickened pulse rate since. Not the women he met

at the station. Not the ones he helped. Not the nurses at the

hospital. Not the hot girl who'd moved in upstairs from him, the

one who'd already locked herself out three times just so she'd

have an excuse to ask for his help.

This stranger? She'd given him a hard-on from ten feet away.

She looked around the room again, watchful, her gaze

passing without hesitation over the crease in the drapes behind

which he stood.

_Buy me_.

She couldn't possibly have heard the mental order, yet she

narrowed her eyes, focusing again on the drapes concealing him.

He couldn't help repeating the silent appeal, trying to

remember all the stuff one of his sisters had said about that

dumb book she'd been obsessed with lately. About how the

universe would grant you what you want if you just visualized

it hard enough.

Oh, it was easy to come up with some fast-and-hot visualizations

right now.

"You want to know my biggest fear?" said Number Eighteen,

a blond-haired surfer-looking guy who said he worked as a

stockbroker. "What if whoever wins me pays like fifty bucks? I

mean, how humiliating would that be when the richest women

in Chicago are all drooling like a pack of stray dogs eyeing a

butcher shop window out there?"

Mr. Polished European guy laughed softly at the very thought

of that even being a possibility for him. Zane, however, immediately

understood the stockbroker's worries.

Geez. He'd thought being bid on would be a humiliation. But

not being bid on? "Get me out of here."

"Too late," said a perky voice belonging to the young woman

who was stage-managing tonight's events. She glanced at the

blond pretty boy. "You're on. They're reading the introduction

right now." Then she pointed the tip of her pencil at Zane. "And

you're right behind him, Nineteen."

Nineteen. That's how they'd addressed him from the moment

he'd checked in at the event desk and had been whisked to a

private dressing room with all the other saps whose bosses,

friends, siblings, mothers or coworkers had talked them into

doing this.

Zane glanced through the slit in the drapes again, whispering,

"Nineteen."

He could easily envision nineteen things he'd say to the

brunette when they met. Nineteen ways to bring about that

meeting. The nineteen minutes it would take to run out from

behind the curtain, grab her hand and drag her to his place. The

number of times he wanted to make love to her and the number

of positions he wanted to do it.

"Nineteen? Hello?"

Zane jerked his attention back toward the stage manager who

was watching him with an expectant—yet slightly exasperated—

look. He'd obviously been visualizing for several minutes. "The

guy before you is done."

"What'd he go for?" Zane couldn't help asking.

"Thirty-five."

Thirty-five. Oh, God, thirty-five bucks? He'd whip out his

checkbook and pay ten times that if he could get out of this. Then

he'd go straight out and introduce himself to the brunette in

blue.

"Thirty-five _hundred_," the woman added, obviously reading

his expression.

"Holy shit."

He could barely scrape up _one _times that amount, and if he had

ten times it in his checking account, he sure as hell wouldn't be

living in a one-bedroom apartment over a flower shop in Hyde Park.

"They're reading your bio right now, so we need to move

quickly," Miss Pencil Tapper said, actually reaching out to grasp

his arm. She must know he wanted to bolt. He doubted he was

the first to feel that way tonight.

"Fine, fine," he muttered, not even listening to the announcer,

whose voice was droning through the hotel sound system. He let

go of the black drape curtain, regret making his fingers glide

against it for a moment longer than necessary. Then he was

being pushed onto the stage, blinded by a spotlight, deafened by

the roar of a hundred tipsy women.

This must be what those Chippendales dudes felt like. The

thought of doing this dressed in leather cowboy chaps and

nothing else was enough to make his stomach heave.

"Who's going to start the bidding?"

"Five hundred!" someone yelled.

Okay. It was a start. Five hundred…that was a worthy

donation. That'd buy a lot of Christmas presents for needy kids.

Like, you know, a hundred games of Go Fish or whatever that

crap sold for now. But, man, it sounded pathetic considering the

pretty boy stockbroker went for seven times that much.

"Six."

"Seven!"

The numbers started flying at a dizzying speed, and Zane

couldn't keep up with them for a while. Not until a loud, determined

female voice cut through the catcalls to shout, "Five

thousand dollars!"

Everyone fell silent for an infinitesimal moment. Zane

included. He didn't know what the highest bachelor had sold for,

but at least he wasn't going to be rock bottom.

_22 Slow Hands_

"We have a bid of five thousand dollars for this excellent

cause," the auctioneer preened. "And I imagine our handsome

bachelor will be worth every penny of it."

Ahh, the joy of being pimped by a fat guy with sweaty jowls

and a smarmy smile.

The searing heat of the spotlight suddenly left his face. Zane

watched as the large, golden circle washed over the crowd,

turning to illuminate the woman who'd ignored auction protocol

by upping the ante so dramatically.

Zane held his breath, something in his brain telling him it had

been her. The brunette. The one he couldn't stop thinking about

had heard his mental 911 call.

The spotlight finally came to rest on the top of a very blond

head.

Shit.

The middle-aged woman trying to look ten years younger sat

at one of the exclusive, reserved tables up front, with a few other

equally jaded-looking upper crusters. She smiled, well pleased

with herself for having silenced the entire room.

But the complacent silence didn't last for long. Because

suddenly, as if they all had one voice, her three companions

jumped into the fray.

"Fifty-one hundred."

"Fifty-two."

"Fifty-five."

It went on for at least a minute, until Zane's head was spinning.

These crazy rich females were willing to lay out what amounted

to a down payment on a house to go to dinner and a ball game

with him? Insane.

_It's for a good cause_. True, but damned if he wasn't getting

tired of hearing that refrain in his head.

The figure had hit eight thousand, the blonde and her three

friends laughing as they tossed it higher and higher like a volley_Leslie_

_Kelly 23_

ball being lobbed over a net. Zane had hated volleyball ever since

he'd been an oversize, clumsy fourth grader who always got picked

last for the team in gym. And he especially hated _being _the ball.

Though the bidding women were laughing, their amusement

held a hint of malice and their smiles were tight. They might have

started this as a game, but nowtheir competitive spirits were rising.

He didn't know how long it might have gone on, if he'd continued

to be nibbled at in one-hundred dollar bites. Suddenly the

whole room froze again. Because another voice—from the other

side of the ballroom—shouted, silencing the three bidding crows.

"Twenty-five thousand dollars."

Zane visualized it, asked the Fates to be kind, then followed

the spotlight.

And for once, he realized, his loopy kid sister was right. He'd

asked, and the universe had answered. Because the winning

bidder was his beautiful brunette.


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_2_

"HOW SHOULD THE CHECK be made out?"

Her pen perched above her open checkbook, Rikki lifted an

expectant brow, having finally reached the front of the checkout

line for tonight's auction. It was her bad luck that her bachelor

had been second to last in the event. If he'd been one of the earlier

"prizes," she would have been able to pay the fee and escape

early, without running the risk that she'd actually have to face

her legally purchased slab of beefcake.

That was the last thing she wanted. She'd done what she'd

set out to do—what Tabitha had guilted her into doing. She'd

stopped her stepmother from hooking up with another man, at

least for tonight. And, at least, with that particular man.

Judging by the look on her stepmother's face, she'd had absolutely

no idea any of her husband's family members had been

in the audience. When she'd seen Rikki from across the

crowded room, Deborah Chadwick had paled, her eyes had widened

in shocked guilt, and she'd rushed out, her nasty, troublemaking

best friend Bitsy close behind her.

Too bad Rikki hadn't been outbid at that point. She could

have saved herself twenty-five thousand dollars. Because, while

she hadn't dated in a while, she most certainly was not desperate

enough to actually take advantage of the "prize" she'd just

won. If he'd been a regular bachelor? Perhaps. But knowing he

was a gigolo who prostituted himself? _Never_.

_Leslie Kelly 25_

_It's for a good cause_, she reminded herself, knowing her

family's charitable foundation, which she managed, always supported

the worthy children's program anyway.

"I am in a bit of a hurry," she prodded, offering the harriedlooking

woman running the payment desk a smile to take any

sting from her words. "This really is a wonderful program and

I'm so glad to be able to support it," she added, meaning it. "But

I do have another engagement."

That wasn't exactly untrue. She did have a standing engagement

with her remote control and the latest disc from her _Grey's_

_Anatomy _Season 2 DVD set. Better that than sticking around and

actually having to converse with a man who accepted money

from bored, lonely, rich women.

"You won bachelor number…"

"Nineteen," Rikki supplied, not likely to forget him anytime

soon. Oh, she might have no respect for the man, especially

because her stepmother had wanted to cheat with him. But he

was so damned gorgeous. Even his photograph in the auction

program hadn't prepared her to see him in the flesh.

She'd been expecting some kind of skinny, pasty, girlie kind

of man like the character in _American Gigolo_. She had not

imagined anything like those shoulders, which were about the

width of a small bus, or the bulked-up chest straining against the

fabric of his tux. Nor the thick dark hair, cut short enough to

tempt a woman to do some finger tangling while not drawing one

bit of attention away from the slashing brows, the prominent

cheekbones, the stubborn chin.

He was all man. Nothing like what she'd expected. Although,

she had to admit, her ideas _had _been based on movie references

and her own interactions with weaker-willed men who used

women. _Don't even go there_, a voice in her head reminded her.

"You can make the check out to Give A Kid A Christmas,"

the attractive, dark-haired woman behind the counter said. She

_26 Slow Hands_

offered Rikki a grateful smile. "And thank you so much. Yours

was the most generous donation of the night."

"I'm sure it'll be put to good use."

"Absolutely," the woman said. She gestured toward the

nearest door. "By the way, we've set up a private reception down

the hall, for our winning bidders and our bachelors to meet. You

know, to break the ice before any private, um…meetings."

_Assignations _was more like it.

Addressing the check, Rikki merely smiled politely, not

replying. Then, giving the woman her payment and taking a tax

receipt in return, she deliberately swung around and walked in

the opposite direction.

She'd done her job. Now she needed to get out of here. She'd

come in late—having been tipped off by Tabitha that her target

would be auctioned off second to last. She hadn't seen anyone

she knew, other than her stepmother and the woman's friends.

Hopefully, she could escape without any further public exposure

of her foray into the flesh trade.

She almost made it. She was mere feet from the closest

ballroom exit when she was stopped by a movable wall disguised

as a tuxedo shirt.

Her heart leaped in her chest, thudding in excitement, even

as she mentally cursed the bad luck. Because Number Nineteen

had tracked her down.

"Hello," the wall murmured. "I'm Zane Wallace."

Rikki growled a little, annoyed at herself for feeling an immediate

tingle at thewarmth emanating off the solidmannowblocking

her path. And for leaning forward the tiniest bit and breathing a bit

deeper to catch a better whiff of his warm, spicy scent.

"I know we're supposed to be meeting in the reception

room," he added, "but I'd rather head to the hotel bar, too, if

that's where you were going. I don't think I could stand another

hour with that crowd."

_Leslie Kelly 27_

Funny that he already knew, somehow, that Rikki was not

of "that crowd." Oh, she fit in financially, _and _she had the family

connections and pedigree to mix with the best of Chicago society.

But she didn't like them, didn't feel comfortable with them, preferring

to listen toTabitha's cutting first-person reports rather than

experience the flighty world of the rich-and-shameless personally.

Her social interactions usually centered around business—

fund-raisers, executive dinners. Certainly not hot-body auctions.

"That is where you were going, right? You weren't trying to

ditch me." It wasn't a question and his tone held a hint of

laughter. She didn't think his amusement was caused by conceit,

but rather the incongruity of a woman paying twenty-five thousand

dollars to spend an evening with a man and then walking

out the door without ever meeting him.

It _was _kind of crazy.

"I, uh…the ladies'room," she mumbled, hating herself for letting

the inane excuse cross her lips the very moment she uttered

it. Ladies' room indeed. Deborah, her socially impeccable—if

potentially adulterous—stepmother, would be flaring her nostrils

in mortification. _If _she wasn't cowering somewhere, wondering

if Rikki was going to rat her out for trying to buy her way into

this man's arms.

He cleared his throat. "It's that way."

His arm moved, the hand gesturing back the way Rikki had

just come. That hand was darkly tanned, strong, with neat blunt

fingernails and not a hint of kept-man elegance. They looked like

a worker's hands. And suddenly several parts of Rikki's body

went a little spastic at the thought of being _worked _by them.

Not being the tallest woman in the world, Rikki had been

able to keep her attention squarely focused straight ahead, as if

minutely interested in the design of the buttons on his shirt.

Since she'd been sucked in by his hands, though, she figured she

might as well muster up the courage to confront the rest of him.

_28 Slow Hands_

She could do it. She was woman. Hear her roar.

All she could manage as she lifted her gaze, however, was a

helpless whimper.

The chestwas, as she already knew, huge and strong. The throat

tanned, the neck corded with muscle. His strong jawjutted in classic

male determination. His face was freshly shaved, she'd imagined,

for tonight's event, but already displayed a hint of swarthiness that

would provide the tiniest frisson of roughness if their cheeks met.

_They won't_.

Even if she acknowledged how physically attractive he was,

she still would never again take up with a man who couldn't keep

his pants zipped. She'd been down that road before.

Still…he _was _handsome. His thick hair was cut short, and had

looked lighter when he was up on stage, being paraded around

like a prime bit of horseflesh for sale. Now, up close, she realized

it was a dark brown, but shot with hints of gold here and there

that said he likely spent a lot of time outside. Probably sailing

around in yachts owned by rich women, hitting the clubs in

Monaco or cruising the Mediterranean. Doing the types of things

people in her social circle took for granted, too.

None of which interested _her._

Except, maybe, lounging under the sun on a clear blue sea.

She might not like the ennui and shallowness that often came

with extreme wealth, but she wasn't stupid. She enjoyed an occasional

luxury as much as the next silver spoon girl. And a

summer day spent sailing on her father's thirty-three-foot cutter

was one of her few genuine indulgences.

"Why don't you let me escort you?" he added, finally

breaking the silence.

"I'm afraid I was just leaving," she admitted, knowing she

needed to end this now, before he offered to lead her to the

closest ladies' room. Maybe even escort her inside…and do her

in the lavish vestibule.

_Leslie Kelly 29_

Oh, God, what a fantasy.

She cleared her throat. "It's a work night."

Finally allowing herself to meet his gaze directly, all remaining

words dried up in Rikki's mouth. Because those eyes, which she

hadn't been able to see clearly from the audience, were a dark,warm

brown, so friendly and approachable, open and engaging that itwas

impossible to imagine this man was anything but an all-American

boy-next-door. Albeit the handsomest one she'd ever met.

There was merriment in those eyes, and warmth and friendliness.

Not jaded awareness, not arrogance. Just…niceness. And

pure laid-back sex appeal.

That didn't fit what she knew about the man. Not one bit.

"Work?" he asked, sounding as though he'd never heard the

word.

Well, maybe he hadn't. Rikki lifted her chin, ignoring those

eyes, that half smile on his sensual mouth, and forced herself to

remember who this brown-eyed, kind-looking hottie really was.

A man for sale.

"Yes. Work," she snapped. "I came here to support a charity.

I've done it, and now I'm leaving."

He put a hand out, touching her elbow lightly, though not

trying to restrain her. But all the same, the touch was binding,

rooting her where she stood.

"Look, I have the feeling we've gotten off on the wrong foot

somehow. I'd really like to go sit down somewhere, not as part

of our 'date' but just so I can thank you for bidding on me." He

shook his head, smiled slightly and rubbed a hand across his

strong jaw, the slide of his fingers rasping the tiniest bit across

his very faint five-o'clock shadow. "You saved me from being

the cheapest guy of the night."

"As if that was going to happen."

"You never know. That stockbroker guy was offering a

weekend getaway upstate."

_30 Slow Hands_

"What were you offering?" she asked, only out of curiosity.

_Not _out of genuine interest. Definitely not.

Shrugging, he admitted, "A home game at Wrigley Field

followed by wings and beer at a pub."

Rikki's eyebrows went up.

"You didn't know that when you shelled out twenty-five

thousand bucks?"

She shook her head, muttering, "I don't think it would have

mattered."

Not one bit. Because neither Bitsy Wellington, or Rikki's

stepmotherwould ever have let that ball game evening happen. The

date would have begun and ended tonight, right in one of the

thousand lavish hotel rooms above their heads. Despite being

much older than this man, Deborah had the money, the looks and

the charm to make sure she got exactly what shewanted. Whether

Zane Wallace had really intended a "normal" date with the winner

or not.

To Rikki, though, a Major League ball game soundedwonderful.

She'd never been to a professional game, relying on ESPN and

pay-per-viewchannels to satisfy her innate—if secret, given its lessthan-

spoiled-little-rich-girl image—love of sports. Especially sports

that took place on a diamond and involved a bat and a ball.

_So borrow Dad's box seats. Because you _aren't _going with_

_Mr. Expensive_.

"You see why I was expecting the worst. I mean, if somebody

had gotten me for twenty bucks, my sisters would never have let

me hear the end of it."

She couldn't prevent a trill of amused laughter from escaping

her lips at the very thought of this man getting out of here for

such a paltry amount. He probably charged that much per minute.

He watched her laugh, those soft, dreamy eyes resting on her

lips, his own curling up at the edges in response. "You've got

dimples."

_Leslie Kelly 31_

She clamped her lips tight, silently ordering her cheeks to

flatten out.

"They're beautiful."

"They're stupid."

"Adorable."

"Made for a five-year-old's face or a baby's bottom."

He shook his head. "Uh-uh. A beautiful woman's."

Rikki quivered at that. Though she knew the man was probably

schooled at such come-ons, and made a practice of making

every woman feel beautiful and desirable, she couldn't help the

warm flow of pleasure surging through her veins. Because he

made her _believe _it.

His lips quirked. "Uh, by that I meant a beautiful woman's

_face_, of course."

Remembering the second part of her comment, she inwardly

groaned, mortified at having given the man such an easy opening.

"You really are stunning," he murmured, not handing her a

line, not at all sleazy. Just confident of what he said. "A dark and

vibrant flame next to all those icy princesses."

Rikki swallowed. Itwasn't possible that he _knew _her—and her

reputation—was it? No. He couldn't. He was using his wiles, his

tricks of the trade, telling her what he thought she wanted to hear,

like any good professional. Because far from being the vibrant

"flame," shewas knownas the coldest businesswoman in Chicago.

Did he really see her so differently?

"You looked entirely _alive _from up on that stage…the only

woman who did."

Okay, boy-next-door or not, the man was good at getting

around a woman's defenses with that sexy-smooth delivery. Too

good. Especially since she knew there was no way she could

have him. Just the thought of what might have happened between

him and her stepmother had she not prevented it was enough to

make her stomach turn.

_32 Slow Hands_

Besides, never again would she be with someone who had sex

with more partners in a month than she'd had in her lifetime.

Been there, done that. Her ex simply had not gotten paid for it.

He hadn't needed to. He'd quite enjoyed giving it away for free

to any woman he'd met.

Well…she had to give this Zane some credit. At least he was

honest and open about what he was.

That, however, was as much as she was willing to concede.

"I have to go."

"Oh, come on," he urged, "please don't. You've got to at least

let me buy you a beer for saving me from utter humiliation in

front of that bloodthirsty crowd."

"And from your sisters."

"Who are absolutely merciless."

His tone said he didn't care, that there was a genuine fondness

between him and his siblings. Well, Rikki understood that.

Though she might have little to nothing in common with Tabby,

that didn't mean she didn't love her. She understood the concept

of loving someone even if you didn't completely understand them.

If not, she'd never have survived this many years in her own family.

"I have one of those."

"Sisters?"

She nodded. "And she's also pretty merciless. Especially

about getting her own way."

"I somehow suspect you can hold your own."

"Ditto."

"I always found that hanging their bras out their bedroom

windows was an effective deterrent to future harassment."

Rikki couldn't help chuckling again, unable to keep a smile

off her face, dimple exposure or not. "I don't know that Tabitha's

ever owned one," she replied, thinking of her sister's willowy,

graceful figure. Tabby was Gwyneth Paltrow slender all the way.

While Rikki was more on the Catherine Zeta Jones side.

_Leslie Kelly 33_

He glanced down, probably not even aware he was doing it.

The glance was quick, not offensive, probably almost reflex

considering the need to check out a woman's breasts seemed

inbred into male genes.

His gaze rose to her face, but not so quickly that she didn't

see the way his jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed, shining with

dark intensity and appreciation, all traces of that easygoing good

humor disappearing.

Hers disappeared, as well. Not to be replaced by anger…but

by pure physical awareness. The roam of his stare over her body

affected her just as thoroughly as a real touch from anyone else

would have.

Sometimes, she didn't mind so much being the more curvaceous

of the Chadwick sisters. Tabitha had the runway model shape

and maintained it by eating as much as a three-day-old sparrow.

Rikki, meanwhile, bordered on voluptuous, from her more than

ample breasts to her smallwaist and downright generous hips, and

fought every potato chip and cheesecake urge to keep it that way.

Her body might play hell with her wardrobe, ruling out any

cute little backless sundress or strapless gowns, which Tabby had

by the roomful. But right now, at this moment, she couldn't

bring herself to care. And it was all because of the heat in this

sexy man's eyes and the almost audible quality of his next,

slowly indrawn breath.

That was lust she saw there. Pure and undisguised, unhidden

by social demands or proper breeding that insisted it wasn't

polite to visibly covet a woman.

He was coveting. She was being coveted. They were both

caught in the tension of it.

Though her mind knew better, her body couldn't help responding.

Beneath the silky dress, her skin puckered, tiny

goose bumps rising on the deep V of her cleavage, her nipples

tightening to jut against the lace of her bra. Her pulse fluttered

_34 Slow Hands_

in her throat, and the breaths she managed to inhale were

shallow. Each was filled with the warmth of him and the dark,

masculine scent of his body, which had edged to within inches

of her own.

All from a look. What in God's name might happen to her if

he ever laid a hand on her?

"Please say yes," he murmured. "For no other reason than that

you want to."

His tone remained light, not demanding, not intense, despite

the look in his eyes and the static in the air between them. As if

he knew that coming on too strong might scare her off.

And suddenly, it was working. Her verbal defenses had been

firmly in place at the start, but now…well, now she'd actually

allowed herself to see him as a person—a very sexy person—

rather than just the instrument her stepmother had intended to

use to hurt her father.

If he'd played the lothario, Rikki would already have been

out of here. But he hadn't. He'd merely sounded friendly, engaging,

and oh _so _tempting. While he spoke of polite things like

his family, his eyes did all the more intimate talking. He _wanted_

her, yet managed to remain genuine and self-deprecating. Not

at all like the male prostitute he was.

Suddenly remembering what else Tabby had told her about

the man, and the glimpse she'd had at the auction program, she

said, "You don't have an accent!"

"Am I supposed to?"

She clenched her lips shut, wishing she'd thought to learn a

bit more about what shewas up against had given

her the bare bones and Rikki had raced into the plan. Typical

story. Just theway itwas when they were kids andTabby had been

Lucy holding the ball while Charlie Brown Rikki ran down the

field to kick it, _knowing _she was going to end up on her ass.

"I should have made her do it herself," Rikki muttered,

_Leslie Kelly 35_

though she knew that would have been a very bad idea. Even

Tabitha had known better.

Rikki could be trusted to avoid a sexy gigolo. Hopefully. Her

sister could not. And Tabby seemed truly determined to make

her next marriage—which was scheduled for its high society

kickoff in a few weeks—work. She would _never _have been able

to keep her perfectly manicured fingers off this hunk.

But Rikki could. And she would. Any moment now. As

soon as her heart slowed down and her body came off orange

alert and went back down to at least yellow.

"What?"

"Nothing." Rikki stared at him, searching for something in

his expression, a hint that a predator lurked beneath his oh-sosexy,

laid-back, nice-guy appearance. There must be something—

malice, greed, or lasciviousness—behind the open, honest interest

in his stare. Just because she hadn't seen it, didn't mean it wasn't

there.

There _had _to be more to him than she was seeing. And she

almost wished she had time to find it.

Maybe if she'd been introduced to him at a cocktail party or

met him at the bank, she'd allow herself to fall for the sexy,

charming, friendly demeanor and let herself be seduced by the

want in his eyes. She would try to get to know him better, and

let him know his physical interest was most definitely reciprocated.

But one undeniable truth prevented that.

If she had not been tipped off and come here tonight to prevent

it, the man standing in front of her would probably be upstairs

having sex with her father's wife right this minute.

And that was the end of her waffling. Again repulsed by the

very idea, Rikki took a step away, removing her arm from his

touch, and the rest of her from the force field of sexiness encompassing

the man like a cloak. She was immune, damn it. Mentally

_36 Slow Hands_

and, now, because of the harsh truth she'd just forced herself to

acknowledge, physically.

Rikki pasted the cordial but not exactly friendly, expression

on her face she used daily when running interference between

her father and the sycophants constantly hitting him up. "Really,

Mr. Wallace, there's no wrong foot. You don't owe me a thing.

I'm glad I was able to keep you from the ridicule of your sisters."

With a deliberately rueful smile, she thought of how she'd ended

up here tonight and admitted, "They can definitely be annoying."

"Okay then. So we'll have a drink while we compare our

crazy families, make our plans and check out the sports page for

the next home game." Frowning, he added, "You _are _a Cubs fan,

aren't you?"

"I think it's illegal not to be around here."

"Meaning there's nothing stopping us from going out."

"If I told you I liked the Cardinals, would that get this ridiculous

idea out of your head?" He lifted a hand to his chest, his

jaw opening in horror. Which made her laugh again. "Kidding."

"You'd go that far to avoid going out with me?" he asked, his

voice growing quiet, his smile fading. As if her answer really

mattered to him…as if he _cared_.

Shaking her head, Rikki stepped around him, taking that

first all-important step toward the door. And away from Mr.

Superstud. "It's not about going out with you. I had my own reasons

for being here tonight, and they didn't include a date. So

you are completely off the hook."

"But the money…"

"Was for the children." _And for my father_. "There's no quid

pro quo in this." Even if five minutes ago all her most feminine

parts had been demanding that she get at least a little bit of quid

and a whole lot of quo for being so…_awakened _by him.

That was a good word for it. Their brief conversation hadn't

aroused her quite to the level of blatant physical desire. But it had

_Leslie Kelly 37_

most definitely awakened her to the possibilities. Especially

because she suddenly realized that as well as being physically attracted

to him, she could also truly like this warm, amusing man.

Oh, there were _so _many possibilities.

_No_. They were _im_possibilities. Her most feminine parts

would have to be happy watching hot doctors having affairs at

Seattle Grace.

Telling herself she would not regret this in the morning, but

wondering how she'd make it through the long, lonely night

ahead without fantasizing about how she _could _have spent it—

she murmured "Goodbye," and walked out of his life.

ZANE HAD THREE SISTERS, so he knew better than to try to change

a woman's mind when she had definitely made it up. And the

sexy brunette in the silky blue dress had most assuredly made

up her mind to leave. Funny, though…he had the feeling she'd

decided to ditch him before she'd ever bid on him.

Which, frankly, made him feel a lot better. Because her disinterest

was not personal. He just needed to make sure that her

_interest _became _very _personal.

Because there was no way that pert little dismissal and the

sashay of her curvy hips out the ballroom door was the end of

their relationship. Uh-uh. She'd been sexy and mysterious, aloof

and unattainable from behind that black curtain. Now that he'd

seen those stormy brown eyes, heard that whiskey-toned voice

and caught a glimpse of her beautiful smile and those adorable

dimples, he found her not only sexy and earthy but also almost

heart-stoppingly desirable.

And no longer unattainable. He had a legitimate reason to find

her. A good reason. He owed her what he'd promised and he

never welshed on a deal.

Zane didn't even consider following her. He didn't need to.

Chicago might be a big city, but the world in which the über_38_

_Slow Hands_

wealthy lived was a small, incestuous one. He could find out who

she was with a few well-placed questions at the reception going

on down the hall.

The problem was, he really didn't want to venture into that

reception. He'd escaped the clutches of the catcalling rich bitches

and he had no desire to fall into them again. Fortunately, he didn't

have to.

"Excuse me," he said as he strode toward the checkout desk. It

was almost deserted now, with just a few last volunteers counting

cash, sorting checks and cleaning up after the flesh-spendingfrenzy.

"Yes?" an attractive brunette replied. Zane recognized her as

the woman who ran the charity organization benefiting from

tonight's auction—the Give A Kid A Christmas thing that provided

traditional holiday seasons for families living in Chicago's

abused women shelters. Noelle something. She'd been earnest

and friendly, a little harried, but not coolly amused and assessing

the way some of the auction organizers had been when he'd

arrived.

"I must be brain-dead," he said, offering her a smile. "But I

somehow let the woman who won the date with me get away

without making our final plans. And I don't know how to get in

touch with her."

The woman frowned. "What was her name?"

Sticky one. Zane thought about bullshitting some more, then

decided honesty was probably the best way to go. If the brunette

felt sorry for him at having been bought and then dumped like

yesterday's garbage, she might be more forthcoming with the information

he wanted.

"To be honest? She didn't give it to me. I think she got cold

feet, even after laying out twenty-five grand."

Recognition washed over the woman's face. "Ah, yes, I

remember her." As if wanting to console him, she added, "She

_Leslie Kelly 39_

did say she had to be somewhere else. I'm sure she was in a hurry

and didn't realize she hadn't given you her name and number."

"That must have been it. I'd really appreciate your help,

uh…Noelle, right?"

"Right," she replied. "Noelle Santori." Turning her attention

toward the money she'd been counting, she added, "She won't be

hard to find. There was only one check made out in that amount

tonight."

The woman riffled through a stack of checks piled inside the

metal strongbox, plucked one out and said, "Aha!" Then she

frowned. "Uh-oh, it's a foundation, not a personal check. Her

name's not printed on here, and her signature is a little…messy."

"Her name is Rikki Chadwick," a woman behind him said.

Zane swung around and saw a slender, attractive blonde, watching

him with hooded speculation. He didn't know her, as far as

he could tell. She might have been one of the horny, diamondladen

princesses bidding fast and hard during the auction. Or she

might not. The spotlights hadn't allowed him a close enough look

to be certain.

"Here," the blonde said, handing him a business card. "Rikki

works at a bank downtown. That's the address." She gave him a

thorough once-over, assessing him as if he was a six-foot-three

lobster in a fancy restaurant's tank. And she was very hungry for

some surf and turf.

Finally, she sighed and crossed her arms. "I'm sure it was an

oversight, her leaving without getting what she came here for.

So you be sure to look her up." She turned away, tugging her

weather-inappropriate stole tighter around her shoulders. As she

walked away, he caught one final whisper. "You might just be

an answer to a prayer."


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_3_

"EXCUSE ME, MISS CHADWICK, there's someone to see you."

Rikki looked up from her desk as her administrative assistant,

Ella, peeked around the partially open door to her office.

Being addressed as Miss Chadwick tipped her off to her young

employee's unusually somber mood. Most times, the efficientbut-

bubbly young woman would have buzzed her, reminded her

of an appointment, then snapped a quick, naughty joke. Ella

liked nothing better than leaving Rikki with an inappropriate

grin on her face as some staid business visitor entered her

office.

This time, though, Ella sounded subdued, almost awed, and

wore a facial expression to match.

"Oh, damn, is it the congressman again? I told him we weren't

increasing his line of credit."

The other woman shook her head slowly. "Nope. A stranger."

Clearing her throat, she blinked a few times, as if trying to physically

shake off her dazed mood. After a few seconds, she grinned.

And when she began speaking in a rush, Rikki realized her _real_

assistant was back in the building.

"Look, I just have to say, if this is a sales guy running a scam

and he doesn't _really _know you and doesn't _really _have an appointment,

I will so totally take him off your hands. I'll whisk him

out of here, no problem. Show him the door, follow him out, go

somewhere private and whip him into shape. Give him a good,

_Leslie Kelly 41_

stern talking-to about coming by without appointments." Her

expression verging between lustful and hopeful, she added, "It

would probably take hours and hours. Maybe the whole weekend."

Ella wasn't exactly the most professional bank employee in

the world, but she was by no means flighty. Which meant

whoever Rikki's visitor was, he had to be someone capable of

turning a normal, levelheaded young woman into a jazzed-up,

sexed-up, babbling twit.

"Oh, hell," she whispered, knowing who was standing right

outside her door. Only one man she'd met recently was capable

of sucking every brain cell from a woman's head within two

minutes of meeting her.

Considering she'd dreamed about him for the past two

nights—hot, _Grey's Anatomy _inspired dreams of her being the

filling in a triple decker McSteamy, McDreamy and McGigolo

sandwich—she should be feeling McPanicked and McCornered.

He'd almost surely be able to read the guilty embarrassment on

her face the moment he spotted her.

Somehow, though, she could only muster anticipation and excitement.

But she knew that all he'd see on her face was interest

and admiration that he'd tracked her down—and sought her

out—so quickly.

"Show him in," she murmured, knowing she had about thirty

seconds, the time it would take Ella to walk out and Number

Nineteen to walk in. Just enough time to touch her hair, smooth

her blouse and cross her legs.

She uncrossed them and slid her chair under her desk as soon

as he entered. Her skirtwasn't _too _short. Itwas perfectly businesslike,

in fact. But the pose seemed a little too blatant… inviting. As

if she wanted to encourage him sexually, letting him know he'd

been all she'd had on her mind since the moment she'd met him.

That she did, and he _was _didn't change her decision to go for

professional rather than come-hither.

_42 Slow Hands_

"Hi," he said. "Found ya."

"So you did, Mr. Wallace."

"Nice to see you again…Miss _Chadwick._" He glanced around her

cluttered office, at the shelves laden with books and files and the

stack of documents awaiting her signature in her in-box. Then

he gazed past her at the window overlooking the city, one of the

best views in the high-rise building. Whistling, he murmured, "I

guess you do have a real job."

"What made you think I didn't?"

He met her stare, saying nothing.

"Okay," she acknowledged with a grudging smile. "I don't

suppose many of the bidders from the auction work on much

more than their tans."

"But you don't have one. Meaning you obviously work too

much."

"It could be that I'm naturally pale-skinned and prone to

burning." And that she hadn't had one of those lazy summer days

on her father's boat since _last _summer. She was going to have to

remedy that.

"I somehow suspect you spend twelve hours a day in here and

just wave at the sun from your window as it goes by."

Smart man. And one who was right now making himself at

home, sitting in a chair opposite her desk without being asked.

Her office almost seemed to shrink around him, as if his big body

had sucked up all the spare particles of air, leaving the two of

them cloaked tightly in intimacy.

Thank God for the desk. If it hadn't been between them,

Rikki might have been tempted to slide her chair closer, until

their knees touched. Or their thighs. Or their mouths.

_Stop it._

"Why'd you ditch me?"

"Why did you pursue me?"

"Ha. I asked you a complicated question and you asked me

_Leslie Kelly 43_

a very simple one." He grinned. "I tracked you down because I

owe you a date and I am not a welsher."

That was all. He wasn't a welsher. Well, didn't she just feel

special, like an average everyday poker player waiting for a fivedollar

payoff.

"Now, your turn."

"It isn't necessarily complicated." She arched a brow and

managed a bored tone. "Maybe I ditched you because I wasn't

interested."

His grin still confident, he immediately dispelled that possibility.

"Twenty-five thousand bucks is a whole lot of disinterest."

"It's for a worthy cause."

"So why didn't you bid on somebody else early in the evening

and get out right away?"

"What makes you think I didn't? Maybe you were my

second-to-the-last chance to make a difference, so I made an

outrageous bid."

"You didn't bid on anybody else." He leaned toward her

desk, dropping his elbows on its surface. "Admit it." The position

sent muscle surging against cotton as his casual, washedout

T-shirt hugged his arms. The flexing of his tanned skin

against the black fabric was almost impossible to tear her gaze

away from. She honestly didn't think she'd ever seen a more

powerfully built man in person.

She knew she'd never slept with one.

Most of the men Rikki had had sex with had been wiry

young college guys who wanted any female they could get—

especially wealthy, heiress females—or pale, soft businessmen

she met in her usual circle. Those men—men like Oliver, her

ex-lover, whom she'd kicked out of her life a year and a half

ago—were generally toned from their weekend tennis game or

occasional golf tournaments. Or, in Oliver's case, from his

frequent ski trips with his "best friend" Roddy.

_44 Slow Hands_

That Roddy had been a nickname for Rhonda, a twenty-yearold

ski bunny, had been something he'd failed to mention. Rikki

had found out the hard way when she'd decided to surprise him

one weekend. She'd found Oliver in his room, engaging in some

serious downhill action with the snow ho.

There were no skis involved, but his pole had been getting

quite a workout.

She thrust away the memory, acknowledging that in the

several months she'd dated the man, she'd _never _looked at him

and immediately lusted the way she did with the guy sitting on

the other side of her desk. Zane Wallace had the kind of massive,

rock-solid body women dreamed existed but never expected to

see in real life.

And she coveted it. As _he'd _been coveting the other night.

"I don't think you bid on anyone else," he murmured,

speaking softly, as if aware she'd been struck a little brainless.

"I was watching you from behind the curtain for a long time."

Feeling a bubble of air lodge in the center of her throat,

Rikki struggled to swallow it down, but couldn't quite manage

it.

He had been watching her. Watching. _Her_. With all the tall,

elegant, skinny women in the room, _she'd _caught his eye…and

had apparently kept it.

In some contexts, hearing a man saying he'd been "watching

her" could creep a woman out. But this didn't. Just the way his

hungry stare hadn't the night they'd met.

Instead, once again, he appeared so…honest. Open about his

feelings. Zane sounded both confident and almost surprised by his

own admission, as if he hadn't meant to reveal his immediate

interest in her, even though his presence here in her office confirmed

it.

_He's a pro at making women feel this way_, a small voice in

her head reminded her.

_Leslie Kelly 45_

"I even started asking the universe to let you be the one to win

me," he admitted.

Startled into laughter, Rikki knew exactly what he meant.

Tabitha had recently been touting the brilliance of the same selfhelp

bestseller. She swore it was the reason she'd landed her

latest fiancé, a well-known Chicago hotelier, who was nice, a bit

dull, but richer than an oil baron.

"You don't strike me as the type who needs any _secret _when

it comes to winning over a woman, Mr. Wallace."

"I obviously needed to find out one secret…your identity."

Smooth.

"Fortunately, like Cinderella, you left a clue behind."

"I think I had both shoes on my feet when I got home."

"Your check. With your signature."

Frowning, she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair.

"They gave you my check?"

"Just a quick peek. Then a helpful stranger told me the rest

of what I needed to know."

How _kind _of the stranger.

Honestly, though, considering she was edgy and excited, her

pulse a little fast, her heart beating a little hard, maybe it _had _been

a kindness. Rikki hadn't dated anyone in a long time. The last

scene with her ex had burned itself on her brain and left her skeptical

of the sweet promises of _any _man. Oliver's final words—

when he'd insisted they could still be a great team with her

money and his family connections, with no messy, intimate

"emotions" attached—had replayed in her mind many times

since then.

She was a suitable candidate for the position of Oliver's wife,

with an acceptable pedigree and lots of cash. A great business

prospect. Nothing more.

Ouch.

"Everybody knows everybody in your circle, huh?"

_46 Slow Hands_

"It's the world's biggest small pond."

"Yawn."

"You've no idea."

"So come swim outside the reef with me. You might not be

surrounded by your colorful, tropical kind, but sometimes us

plain old trout can be entertaining."

Rikki couldn't help chuckling again. The man was just cute.

As if he could be plain old _anything_. "You know, lately, I've been

sticking to the shallows."

"Double yawn. Come on, take a chance."

Uh-uh. The shallows suited her fine. Here she could safely

ignore any thoughts of her personal life. Along with working

insane hours, she'd been dealing with the usual family crises, including

Tabby's upcoming wedding. The social functions she

attended were more a matter of courtesy and professionalism

than pleasure and the men she met at them always fell into two

camps—the boring and proper, or the greedy, who saw dollar

signs on her forehead.

The first type could never catch her interest. The second made

her skin crawl. None of them could ever make her consider

swimming out into those romance waters again. She just wasn't

interested.

_Until now_.

Yes. Until now. This man had slowed her down, made her

think, made her aware of herself for the first time in ages. For

that, at least, she owed him thanks. Because though she still had

no intention of letting anything happen between her and a paid

companion, she had at least begun to wonder if she should accept

a few more invitations, get out more and perhaps meet someone

else who _could _get her heart tripping and her palms damp. And

maybe even her panties.

She'd guard her heart, set out for some physical satisfaction

and never let herself be hurt. As long as she went into it with that

_Leslie Kelly 47_

in mind, it could be possible for her to have some kind of sex

life again.

_With him_.

"No," she whispered. Not with him. Because, while his career

might actually be a benefit, given the no-strings, pleasure-only

kind of affair she suddenly had in mind, her reaction to him was

already way too personal, too strong and intimate for her to feel

comfortable. He made her laugh, he made her blush, he made

her palms sweat. And she could not be one hundred percent sure

his feelings were genuine and not merely evidence of how good

he was at what he did.

Ergo, he was out of the question as a potential easy, sexand-

go fling.

"No?" he said, obviously hearing her whisper. "You really

mean that?" Before she could say yes, he quickly continued.

"Because even if you didn't set out to buy a date and you were

only supporting the charity," he said, sounding as though he

only half believed that, "I did _not _go into it that way. I agreed to

a date and I'm trying to live up to my end of the bargain here."

"Your bargain…"

"I made a promise to the organizers of the auction and my

promise is like my handshake. My dad would clobber me if I

didn't stand by either one of them. So that's what I am going to

do."

_Whether you like it or not_. He didn't say the words. But she

heard them just the same.

Rikki noted the challenge, realized he was throwing down

a gauntlet, daring her to _not _live up to her end of the bargain. And

her competitive spirit rose. She might have been raised in a

mansion, but the owner of that mansion had been Jason Chadwick,

who had his financial hands spread over half the city and his

fingers touching the other half. He kept them there by shrewdness

and sheer will. Something else she'd inherited from her dad.

_48 Slow Hands_

She suspected their fathers would get along well.

"All right then," she said, meeting his stare, "so will I."

"You won't regret it," he said, his eyes darkening even

further as he stared at her, raking his gaze from her hair to her

cheek, then to her mouth and her throat in a look more appreciative

than predatory.

She already regretted it. How had she let herself be dared into

saying yes?

She opened her mouth to lay down a few ground rules for their

"date." It would be brief, platonic and completely romance-free,

without question. She fully intended to meet him at the ball field

and leave immediately after the last out of the night. And that

would be the end of it.

No touching. No sexy looks. None of those cute jokes that

made the stupid dimples on her face put in an appearance. And

from here on out, her palms were staying dry. So were her private

parts.

Before she could say anything, however, they were both

startled by the sudden opening of Rikki's office door.

"Rikki, I need to talk to you about…oh, I'm sorry. I didn't

know you had an appointment. Your secretary's not outside and

your calendar was clear."

Rikki leaped from her seat so quickly her chair went sliding

backward against the wall. Her father had just entered the room,

carrying a folder and wearing his "We have a problem" look that

usually meant they were skipping lunch.

He quickly forgot his problem though, as he stared curiously

at Zane Wallace. Maybe because nobody had been on her electronic

appointment calendar. Maybe because the dark-haired

man was smiling too intimately to be a client looking for a loan.

Maybe because Rikki was so flustered. Or maybe because the

heated tension in her office was about as thick as the stack of

her father's prenups and divorce notices.

_Leslie Kelly 49_

Which was pretty damn thick.

"Dad!" she said, wondering how her day could have gone

downhill so rapidly. No more words came out of her mouth. Her

brain had just emptied, probably because the whole reason she'd

attended the bachelor auction was to keep her father's wife out

of _this _man's bed.

Zane stood, saving her from having to say anything. But when

he spoke, Rikki wondered whether he'd done her any favors at

all.

"I'm not an appointment," he said, smiling at her father, comfortable

and at ease as he rose to extend his hand. "I'm Rikki's

date, and I'm here to take her to lunch."

"I THINK your father likes me."

Zane didn't have to hear the annoyed, huffy little sound

Rikki Chadwick made to know she wasn't happy about that. He

could still picture the mortification on her face when her father,

the very well-known Jason Chadwick, had practically pushed her out

the door with her lunch "date" after offering Zane a hearty handshake

and a broad smile.

Funny, he'd have thought coming face-to-face with one of the

wealthiest men in Chicago would have been at least slightly intimidating.

Jason Chadwick might not be known nationwide, but

there wasn't a person in Chicago who hadn't heard of the rich

philanthropist, a man who was as well-known for his charitable

works as for his stormy love life.

Zane hadn't been intimidated, though. Maybe it was because

he'd seen enough accident scenes, helped enough crime victims,

responded to enough tragedies, that he realized all the money in

the world didn't mean a damn thing when it came to stopping a

bullet or avoiding flying through the windshield of a car.

Everyone bled the same—red. There was no such thing as

blue blood. Which was, perhaps, why he also felt entirely at ease

_50 Slow Hands_

in his pursuit of Rikki Chadwick, who the society pages liked

to call the Ice Queen of the Financial District. He'd found that

out in the two days since the auction. He'd been doing some

research.

Personally, she wasn't a bit icy. Confident and a little unreachable?

Sure. But not cold.

Professionally? Well, he really didn't give a damn what she

was like behind that fancy desk at work. He didn't want her for

her connections to a major Chicago bank. He wanted her for the

excitement he'd felt in his gut from the moment he'd peered at

her from behind the black drapes at the auction the other night.

And he wanted to know what had been behind her tension and

her determination, which hadn't been able to disguise her innate

earthy sensuality.

"Don't let it go to your head," she said as they reached the

corner of Madison and State, heading for the closest lunch café.

"Despite his business reputation, my father is a hopeless

romantic, who'd love to see me settle down. He'd be happy if an

intoxicated mime in full makeup came to take me to lunch, as

long as he was single and breathing."

"I hate mimes."

"Who doesn't?"

"I mean, what kind of kid thinks 'Gee, when I grow up, I

wanna paint my face and annoy people for a living.'"

She raised a droll brow. "One who wants to be a clown?"

"I think I'd feel better if my kid said he wanted to be a lawyer."

"Perish the thought," she said with an exaggerated shudder.

"I've never seen a drunk one, though. That might be entertaining."

"You obviously don't lunch at the Chicago Club with all the

rest of the high-priced defense attorneys."

"I meant the mime," he explained, enjoying sparring with her,

liking the smart comebacks and that smile lurking on her mouth.

_Leslie Kelly 51_

What he most wanted now was a full frontal attack of those

gorgeous dimples and that light laugh he just knew was hiding

behind the twitching lips and the twinkling eyes.

"Watching them fall and not be able to get up in their invisible

box might be fun."

It finally worked, he got her to relax. "You're right." A tiny

grin appeared, finally widening into that brilliant smile, complete

with a flash of those dimples. God, she had the kind of smile that

could stop traffic. She was absolutely made for it.

Among other things.

Feeling even more confident about his sneaky way of getting

her to have lunch with him, he took her arm as the light changed.

Instinct. Good manners toward females had been hammered into

him from the time he was old enough to understand what the

words _put the seat down _meant.

One good thing—she didn't flinch. A second one—she didn't

pull away, either. It was something, at least.

"So your dad's a real romantic, huh?" The image didn't quite

fit with the "ruthless mogul" the papers made him out to be.

"Don't go there."

"Touchy subject?"

"His romantic track record's not exactly one for the books.

Yet he still wants everything to be roses and fairy tales, true love

all around, as impossible as that may be."

They crossed the street with the rest of the streaming flow of

humanity. On a sunny summer afternoon, _everyone _stepped

outside to bask in the sunlight. And many of them did it at Millennium

Park. That was where he intended to take Rikki after

they grabbed a take-out lunch. He sensed she wasn't the picnicking

type, especially in the middle of a workday, but he intended

to try to convince her, anyway.

"Why is it impossible?" he asked as they stepped onto the

opposite sidewalk.

_52 Slow Hands_

"What?" she asked, glancing up at him in confusion, obviously

having forgotten what she'd just said.

That said a lot. Mainly that she didn't think about love very

often. He tucked the realization away, knowing he'd have to get

to know this woman bit by bit, piece by piece, because that was

all she was going to allow until she let her guard down.

"Why is falling in love impossible?"

She sighed as they continued walking. "_Falling _in love isn't

the problem," she murmured. "It's the staying in love part that I

don't have much faith in."

"I have two parents, four grandparents, and about fifty aunts,

uncles, cousins and friends who'd say you're wrong about that."

She finally turned to really look at him, a hard, skeptical glint

appearing in those big brown eyes. That was when he knew—

the woman had been burned. Badly. The realization made something

twist inside him, deep down, to the nice-guy core who

detested the jerks who hurt women.

"And I have a father, a sister, a couple of former stepmothers,

several cousins, aunts, uncles and friends who say I'm right."

He gaped. "Not a single successful marriage in the bunch?"

Her gaze shifted, her lashes lowering over suddenly sad eyes.

"My parents were supposedly happy."

Confused, he waited for her to continue.

"My mother died when I was very young. My father once said

the years he spent with her were the most blissful of his life."

"So it is possible."

"They were only married for five years before she got sick."

"God, you're a pessimist."

"And you're an optimist?"

"Hell, yes. My glass may only hold beer instead of champagne,

but it's almost always half full."

Zane had seen too much sadness and tragedy in his work to

let himself feel anything but intensely grateful for all the good

_Leslie Kelly 53_

things in his life. His family, the great childhood, his job, his

friends.

And now…well, now, maybe Rikki Chadwick. If only she'd

let him get close enough to find out.

"So, what do you want to grab for lunch?" he asked, still not

telling her he intended to get her to the park so she could unwind,

unbend, maybe let her guard down a little.

He wanted to see the breeze off the lake blowing in her hair.

Wanted to see another genuine smile, maybe even a flash of unguarded

interest, as he'd seen in her eyes earlier in her office.

Just like the flash that she had obviously seen the other night

when they'd met.

Women hated being objectified, he knew that. And Zane had

never—ever—treated any woman like a sexy body with a head

stuck on it. But pausing to appreciate the soft, mouthwatering

curves on this particular one had been as instinctive to him as

drawing in his next breath of fresh June air.

She'd noticed. He'd noticed her noticing. Even now his

hands tightened and his mouth hungered at the thought of

watching her shimmy out of that glittering blue cocktail dress

she'd had on.

He'd wager she'd been wearing something very black, very

silky and _very _sinful underneath thought of exactly what that

might have looked like against the unbelievably lush curves of her

body had been enough to keep his imagination racing and his libido

roaring throughout the long, sleepless night after she'd left.

He sensed tonight wouldn't be much better, though she

couldn't look more different than she had then. Today, dressed

in her businesswoman's armor—a tailored light blue suit, silky

blouse, skirt short enough to show a stunning pair of legs, but

not so short that she'd send a man into cardiac arrest—she looked

entirely in control. Every hint of the sexy, almost-impulsive

woman who'd cut through all the bullshit games and bid a small

_54 Slow Hands_

fortune for an evening with him was gone. She had been replaced

by a smooth, impeccably mannered businesswoman.

The completely unflappable professional was still incredibly

the idea of _un_smoothing her, tempting her into forgetting

her manners and her reserve and going wild—with _him_—already

had his pants fitting a little tighter than they'd been this morning.

She was a contradiction…ice maiden and sexy, earthy woman

in midnight-blue. He wanted them both. Badly.

"We really don't have to continue this facade."

"What facade?"

"This…impromptu lunch. Obviously you were startled into

making the offer when my father showed up."

He grinned. "The best part was that you were startled into accepting

it."

Her face flushed the tiniest bit, but she waved a hand, as if

shooing a pesky little insect—or that pesky little detail—away.

"Whatever the case, my father's office is on the twentieth floor.

He's not watching to make sure we really are going on a date."

"Don't consider it a date," he conceded. "Let's call it a

lunch meeting. Just a casual get-together so we can figure out

our _real _date."

Her back stiffened. "_That's _not a real date, either."

"What would you call it?"

"A planned meeting."

"Sounds cold. What about a shared experience between two

friends?"

"We're not friends."

"Maybe we will be by the time we go out." Today would,

hopefully, be the start of that.

"Let's call it a…business arrangement."

"Business arrangement?" He couldn't help snorting a laugh,

wondering if she had any idea what she was implying. "You

know, in some circles, a woman paying a huge sum of money

_Leslie Kelly 55_

for a man to take her out, saying she wanted a _business arrangement_,

could be construed as something very naughty."

She stopped, turning her head to look up at him. Behind

them, an impatient businessman humphed but followed the pedestrian

traffic as it immediately separated into two streams

and went around them. Her dark eyes flashed almost black,

despite the brightness of the June day. "There's nothing

naughty about this, Mr. Wallace. I'm not in the market for

anything like _that_."

Well, he certainly hoped not. Not only because he sure wasn't

up for playing any reverse _Pretty Woman _games, but also because

there was no way this woman would ever need to pay a man to

spend time with her. _Any _man would want to be with Rikki, despite

the tall, self-protective wall of ice she kept firmly in place

around herself. And not just for her money or her background,

or for the beautiful exterior package.

There was a smiling, laughing, earthy and passionate woman

lurking inside her. He knew it. "Of course not."

She went on as if she hadn't heard him. "I went to that auction

because I wanted to give some needy kids a good Christmas.

Having to share an evening with you was entirely incidental."

Lifting one brow, he had to ask, "Why couldn't you just mail

a check?"

Her mouth opened, but quickly snapped closed again. And for

the first time since he'd laid eyes on her from behind that curtain,

Zane realized the woman was completely flustered. Speechless.

He'd _finally _gotten the best of her.

But he didn't revel in it. Instead of tormenting her with it, Zane

merely took her arm, and resumed their walk, glancing occasionally

at her face and seeing by the way her lips moved that she

was mentally composing a cutting retort. Even though it was far

too late to make one.

Zane couldn't keep a tiny smile from his mouth. Damn, he was

_56 Slow Hands_

going to enjoy watching this woman lose her self-protective

shell, even if he took a few hits in the process.

Rikki Chadwick was most definitely worth it.


	5. Chapter 4

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_4_

LYING IN A DEEP TUB of bubbles in a bathroom awash with candlelight

that night, Rikki tried to empty her mind. She slowly

sipped from a glass of wine and let the water ease away her

cares and worries, hoping one of her greatest pleasures would

distract her from the thoughts running rampant through her

head. She'd been soaking for a half hour, adding hot water

when it became lukewarm, nursing the glass so she wouldn't

have to step out too early.

Her mind, however, wasn't cooperating. Instead it kept going

over the lunch she'd shared with Zane today.

It was lunch. Just a planning meeting, as he said. Didn't

mean a thing and their ball game date on Tuesday would be

exactly the same way.

"Liar," she murmured, sinking deeper, watching the way the

slick water caressed the curves of her breasts, making her skin

shimmer and gleam in the candlelight.

It had been far more than just a business meeting. First off,

most of her business meetings did not take place on a bench in

the park surrounded by happy Chicagoans. Nor did they usually

entail her actually _eating _anything rather than grabbing a protein

bar on her way to the next appointment.

She'd never have imagined such a thing, but he hadn't given

her a chance to refuse. He'd led her where he wanted her to go,

as easily as he'd taken her arm to usher her across the street.

_58 Slow Hands_

Rikki wasn't used to letting any man take the lead. But

while she'd never admit it out loud, she had _almost _enjoyed it.

"Almost?" she whispered. "When did you become such a liar?"

Zane could have been a jerk after teasing her into silence

about mailing a check rather than attending the auction. But he

hadn't been. He'd made her relax. He'd made her smile. Made

all her inhibitions disappear, at least for a little while.

How?

She had no answer. She only knew that all these hours later,

even after returning to the bank for meetings and endless paperwork,

she hadn't been able to forget the way his hand had felt

on her arm, and the solidness of his body against hers as they'd

sat on that park bench.

_That's not the only place you wanted his hand_.

No, it wasn't. Blowing at a bubble on the puckered tip of her

breast, she reached up and lightly brushed it away, acknowledging,

at least here in the privacy of her bathroom, how much she

wanted the hand on her body to be Zane's. Her fingers were

slender and soft, smooth and easy as they slid down, beneath the

water, gliding across her wet skin. His were big and strong and

would feel deliciously rough.

"Especially _here_," she whispered, closing her eyes as she

touched herself even more intimately.

In her mind, though, the touch was all his. And within

moments, the possibilities playing in her mind had her thrusting

against her own fingers, longing to be filled but taking the only

form of pleasure she could manage at the moment. Rikki

sighed, gasped, stroked the lips of her sex and the hard nub of

flesh at the top of it, wondering how on earth she'd gone for so

long without a man's hands on her.

"Not just any man's," she reminded herself. There was only

one pair of hands she wanted. One mouth. One body. One person

she visualized as she spiraled toward a climax.

_Leslie Kelly 59_

The tension built like a carefully tended fire before erupting

in a soft wave of pleasure that had her shaking and gasping for

breath, even as she whispered one word, over and over.

His name.

She hadn't even floated back to earth when she was interrupted

by a stark ringing sound. Rikki sat bolt upright, her hand

flying instinctively to the receiver.

She'd thought it incredibly silly to have a phone in the

bathroom when she'd bought this condo last year. Looking back,

however, she knew it was a good thing. She did enjoy her baths.

"Hello?"

"How did it go? Have you done him yet?"

Tabby. She should have known. She'd lay money her father

had pronounced it to the world when she'd left for a lunch date

today. Sinking back down in the water, she replied, "It was

lunch. _Just _lunch."

"But with _him_, right?"

Tabby had already pumped her for all the details of the bachelor

auction, calling her late the night it had taken place. Rikki

had somehowmanaged to remain noncommittal, pretending it had

gone as planned and she hadn't been affected by her _prize_.

"Rikki? Come on, spill. You did have lunch with that darkhaired,

dark-eyed stud from the auction, didn't you?"

"How do you know what he looks like?"

Her sister made a dismissive sound. "You probably described

him really well on the phone."

Possible, though Rikki remembered trying to be extremely

nondescriptive and brief, not wanting to ever think about Zane

Wallace again after that night. But she supposed she could have

waxed a little poetic about the guy, under Tabby's relentless

prodding.

But something in her sister's tone—a note of mischief, of

amusement—made her suspect it wasn't true. "I don't think I described

him that well."

_60 Slow Hands_

Silence.

And suddenly she figured it out. Gasping, she sat straight up

in the tub again, nearly dropping the phone into the mountain of

bubbles. "You were there!"

"Don't be ridiculous…"

"You came to the auction. Despite all your claims about how

you couldn't be trusted and I had to be the one to do it, you

went anyway."

"Well, I couldn't very well send you up against a professional

without making sure you were okay."

Against a professional… Mmm, she could think of worse

places to be than up against that man's rock-hard body. Especially

after having experienced what just _fantasizing _about him

could make her feel.

"After all, you are my baby sister."

That was about one layer too thick. "Bullshit. I bet you were

the one who told him how to find me, even after I intentionally

left without giving him my name."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

_Yeah, right_.

"And don't try to claim you were looking out for me," Rikki

added. "You were dying of curiosity."

As usual, when busted, Tabitha didn't even try to act repentant.

"Well, it's not every day all the rich bitches of this town go

into heat over the same hound dog."

"He's not a…" She quickly bit her tongue, not wanting to give

Tabby any more ammunition.

Too late. "Whoa-ho! You're falling for him!"

"Of course I'm not."

"But you want him."

"Of course I do." Rikki wasn't one to prevaricate, either.

"So what's the problem? Take him. You are in such desperate

need of getting laid you might as well be wearing a Please

Take Me sign."

_Leslie Kelly 61_

"Charming. Do you kiss your fiancé with that mouth?"

"My future husband is very proper. He hasn't yet learned of

the miraculous things I can do with my mouth," Tabby said with

a catlike purr. "But seriously, you know you want to have sex

with that guy."

"Any woman would," she admitted.

"Of course they would. He's gorgeous. It really is a good thing

I talked you into doing it. I wouldn't have been able to walk out

of the hotel without at least a little taste."

A little taste. Sounded yummy. Only, she knew it wouldn't

be nearly enough. That would be like offering a four-year-old a

little taste of his own birthday cake.

"And I really can't afford one more broken engagement. I'll

get a reputation."

"You love your reputation. And so do all the men who want

to be the one to make you settle down."

Tabby chuckled. "Maybe." Then she lowered her voice,

sounding serious—tender—for a change. "But I really don't

want to do anything to risk losing Brad. He…he calms me.

Settles me. And I think he's exactly what I need."

That explained a lot. Honestly, Rikki had wondered about

Tabby's latest choice in husband. Because, though he was extremely

wealthy, Tabby's soon-to-be-hubby was average looking

and staid compared to the other men she'd been involved with.

"You might be right," Rikki murmured, smiling at the

thought of her wild-child sibling truly settling down.

The serious, tender sister quickly disappeared. "Maybe you

can bring the stud-muffin to the wedding. Wouldn't Deborah just

choke on her chateaubriand?"

Shaking her head, Rikki said, "I'm hanging up now."

"Fine. But remember to call me after your date. You are going,

aren't you?"

Hating to admit it, she said, "Tuesday afternoon."

_62 Slow Hands_

"And hopefully it will last into Wednesday morning. Call me

just as soon as he leaves. I want to know—"

But before Tabby could finish, Rikki hung up the phone.

Shaking her head, she sank back down into the cooling tub of

water, now wanting the rapidly disappearing bubbles to wash

away her irritation.

Her first time in ages doing something to take the edge off and

she got busted. Absolutely the only thing that could have been

worse would have been if Zane had been the one who'd called.

Then she thought about it. Zane calling while she'd been

touching herself. Whispers on the phone. Shared fantasies. Secret

desires.

And she reached for the handle, sending another stream of

hot, steamy water into the tub.

THE INTRINSIC INNER "gentleman" who had been pounded into

Zane's personality since he was a kid rebelled at meeting Rikki

for their date, rather than going to her place and knocking on her

door. There had been a rule growing up in his house—dates, especially

first dates, came inside and got the full family third

degree, or nobody went anywhere. More than one of his sisters'

boyfriends had been introduced to their father while he was

wearing his camouflage hunting gear and cleaning his shotgun.

But _not _coming to the door was worse, as one of his younger

sister Jenny's boyfriends could attest. The first time he'd tried

beeping from his car, their father had gone outside, reached in

through the passenger side window and attached The Club to the

pimple-faced teenager's steering wheel.

He wondered what his old man would make of Rikki Chadwick.

He didn't wonder for long. Hell, nobody in his family was judgmental.

They'd see past the name and the family connection to

the woman beneath.

Just as Zane had.

_Leslie Kelly 63_

They judged a person by his or her character, not their bank

balance. And a good character meant being courteous…bringing

flowers for a date, knocking, holding doors.

None of which he was allowed to do today.

But when he saw Rikki leaning against a sporty little car in

the commuter parking lot where they'd arranged to meet, he

forgot about that concern. A smile slowly widened his lips as he

studied her, head to toe, acknowledging that the woman looked

even better in cute-knee length pants, a hot pink tank top and a

ball cap with her ponytail hanging out the hole in the back than

she had in her silky blue cocktail dress.

"See?" she said as he parked beside her and got out of his

pickup. "I do own something other than a suit or an evening

dress."

Right. He'd wager the sleeveless top came from one of those

high-end shops on the Magnificent Mile and had probably cost

as much as Zane spent on clothes in a month. It was too deceptively

simple to actually be cheap.

Simple…but way sexy.

"You look very cute."

Wrong thing to say. Her lips twisted the tiniest bit.

"I mean, very pretty."

"I was going for girl-next-door."

"Sure. You look just like the girl who lives next door to Bill

Gates."

"Are you going to harass me about being rich all day?"

"Well, it's better than being harassed for being poor, isn't it?"

"As if you'd know anything about that?"

They hadn't really talked much about his family, beyond him

admitting it was big, so he didn't take offense. "Believe me, I

grew up strictly blue collar, middle class. My family never lived

in the lap of luxury. More like the lap of just-enough-to-get-by."

_64 Slow Hands_

She stared at him, her lips slightly pursed, as if assessing the

truth of his words. "Which probably gave you the drive to

succeed, to be financially stable on your own, no matter what

you had to do to make it happen."

He chuckled. If he'd wanted money, he would have gone on

to medical school, as he'd considered doing after college. Paramedics

weren't exactly rolling in the green stuff. "My job's not

what you'd consider—"

She put her hand up, palm out. "I don't want to hear the gory

details about your _job_. We're keeping this entirely impersonal,

aren't we?"

Touchy, touchy. But he let her get away with it. Aside from

the fact that some people truly were squeamish about medical

stuff—which _could _be gory—Rikki had put that wall back up

in place around herself. He had to slowly ease his way over it as

he had the other day when they'd gone for their picnic lunch.

With small, easy steps.

Seeing a tiny price tag still hanging from the side of her

brightly colored ball cap, he reached up and tugged it free. "Went

shopping, huh?"

She snagged the corner of that full bottom lip between her

teeth. "It's my first professional game," she whispered. "I wanted

to look the part."

"Your first ball game? Are you kidding?" Suddenly realizing

something, he murmured, "I'm sorry, if you're really not interested,

we could do something else."

"No way! I love baseball. But I never got the chance to go

see a game in person."

"I'm surprised your bank doesn't have a box."

"We do. But that's so…removed from everything. I can just

as easily sit in my living room and watch it on TV. If I'm going

in person, I want to sit in the stands, and eat peanuts and drink

_Leslie Kelly 65_

beer, glare at drunks spitting in the next row and yell at the ump

when he makes a bad call."

Yep. Pretty typical ball game, in Zane's experience. "Well,

then, I think you bid on the right man."

She shifted her eyes away, mumbling something.

"What?"

"Nothing." Then she glanced at his pickup. "Do you want to

take my car? You can drive."

"Sorry. I don't drive chick cars." He headed for the passenger

seat instead. "But I guess it won't kill my reputation to be

seen riding in one."

She rolled her eyes. "I'll warn you to keep your head down

when we're coming up to any crowded intersection. We wouldn't

want to damage your…reputation."

She got in beside him, and in the close confines of the tiny

car, he suddenly noticed the sweet, light fragrance of her skin.

The fruity scent of her hair. And the earthier scent of pure,

unadulterated woman.

He was, quite simply, unable to resist her any longer.

"Rikki?"

She had reached for the ignition, but paused, turning to give

him her full attention. "Yes?"

"I know this isn't exactly protocol for a first date. But I

can't help it."

"Help what?"

"Help this," he whispered. And without another word, he

leaned over, caressed her smooth cheek with the tips of his

fingers, and covered her beautiful, soft lips with his own.

She tensed for the slightest moment, then, with a little sigh

of acceptance, relaxed. The tension left her jaw, the stiffness

departed from her mouth, and she parted her lips slightly, to share

a warm breath with him.

Zane inhaled it, tasting her, letting himself be filled by her

_66 Slow Hands_

essence. The kiss remained light, sweet, innocent. They were

joined only by the softest brush of lips and scrape of his fingers

on her cheek. And he knew that despite how desperately he

wanted to sink his tongue into her for a fuller taste, he couldn't

deny himself the sweetness of this simple, innocent pleasure.

Finally, when he no longer trusted himself to keep it simple

and innocent, he slowly pulled away. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry you kissed me?" she whispered, blinking a few times

as if she'd just awakened from a dream.

He shook his head. "Sorry I had to stop."

"Oh."

He shifted in his seat, trying to stretch his long legs in the

cramped front seat, wondering if she'd noticed how much _tighter_

the fit was now that he'd let himself give in to the need to taste

her. Especially the fit of his jeans.

"That was _supposed _to be a friendly kiss hello."

"Aren't those usually on the cheek?"

"I think they're usually in the air an inch from the cheek in

your social set, aren't they?"

She nodded, her choppy, audible breaths finally slowing as

she, too, returned to normal. "Yes." Then, not meeting his eye,

she added, "But I think I like your way better."

THE AFTERNOON was everything Rikki had dreamed it would

be. Her twenty-five thousand dollars had bought her nosebleed

seats at a game the Cubs were about to lose. But it didn't matter.

She was so excited to be in the crowd, experiencing live Major

League Baseball the way she'd always imagined it would be, that

she simply didn't care.

Zane treated her like the girl-next-door she'd proclaimed

herself to be. And he—despite his supposedly international upbringing,

which she'd seen absolutely _no _evidence of since

they'd met—was playing the role of all-American boy as if he'd

_Leslie Kelly 67_

invented it. It was hard to believe he was anything other than a

normal, hardworking guy from any small town, rather than a paid

escort competed over by rich women.

_Maybe Tabby made a mistake_.

No. It wasn't a mistake. She'd told Rikki the exact number,

and their stepmother and her cronies had bid like wild women

on Bachelor Number Nineteen. Plus, from what Rikki remembered

about his bio in the program, it had said he liked to travel

the world in search of beautiful women and sexy adventures.

Not quite like the guy cheering on the home team beside her.

So he obviously wore a different persona depending on the situation.

She honestly didn't know, however, whichwas the real man.

"Want some peanuts?" he asked, already flagging down a

vendor.

"I think that was on my list of requirements for today," she

admitted.

Zane grinned, put an icy-cold beer in her hand, and glared

down anyone around them who got too close with their wildly

gesticulating arms and elbows.

He also kept up a running commentary on the game, explaining

all the plays. She let him. It seemed such an innate man

thing—the need to explain sports to the little woman—that she

didn't have the heart to tell him she'd been a star of her college

fast-pitch softball team. She'd even thought about going further

with it and shooting for the national team.

Rikki might be soft from several years working in the

bank, but she'd once been pretty damned athletic. She'd even

considered breast reduction surgery. Sport bras did not do much

to help a woman with a D cup. Her teammates used to joke that

one day, if she bounced too much as she ran, she'd knock

herself out.

Rikki had given up her Olympic hopes when her father had

gone through his last divorce, from his third wife. Rikki had

_68 Slow Hands_

been so worried about him, she'd decided to go home after

graduation, rather than pursue that dream.

Which meant her breasts were safe. And prominent enough

to draw the gawking attention of a few guys around her. She'd

heard the comments from a creep sitting behind her for the last

half hour, but was quite adept at ignoring them. She'd had lots

of practice.

Zane, however, had not.

After the slurred voice behind her got loud enough for Zane

to hear it over the crowd, he leaped to his feet, turned around and

thrust an angry finger into the drunk man's face. "Didn't your

mother ever teach you to keep your eyes to your own damn self

and your fat mouth closed?" he snapped.

The foulmouthed fan, a heavyset, sweaty guy with red cheeks

and beer-scented breath, rose, too, swaying on his feet. "Hey

man, she's hot."

"She's also not deaf," Rikki murmured, turning in her seat

to watch. She'd be damned if she would rise to her feet to prevent

the jackass from leering down her shirt some more. It wasn't lowcut.

And she didn't have a single thing to be ashamed of.

"You're hot," the guy repeated as he gaped from above.

"So you said."

Despite the crudeness she'd heard from the stranger before

Zane had caught on and launched at him, she remained more

annoyed than offended. Leave it to a breast-obsessed little boy

wearing men's triple-X sized clothing to ruin her lovely afternoon.

It wasn't as though she'd never experienced it before. A

woman with her build had to either get used to men treating her

like a walking pair of breasts or spend her entire life in a constant

state of annoyance.

He gave Rikki a bleary smile, still oblivious to the depth of

Zane's anger. "Bet if you flash 'em, the camera'll focus in on ya

and put ya up on the big screen."

_Leslie Kelly 69_

"Oh, and I live for just such a moment."

"You must not like your teeth very much, buddy," Zane

snapped. "Keep talking and you're going to be saying goodbye

to quite a few of them."

Rikki had become adept at retaliating against offensive men,

even if, quite often, her put-downs went right over their imbecilic

heads. "Please, Zane, let it go," she added. "I'm quite sure

that in the world of this gentleman's favorite show, _The Girls_

_Next Door_, he's behaving with absolutely perfect gentility."

"Hey! That _is _my favorite show!"

Uh-huh. Right over his poor wee imbecilic head.

She almost laughed—until she realized Zane was not merely

angry, he was downright furious. Rage flashed behind his eyes

and his tightly clenched body seemed ready to lash out. He

appeared capable of real violence, all because some stupid drunk

had opened his mouth.

The stupid drunk was apparently too far gone to realize he

was about two inches from death-by-enraged-gigolo. "They're

real, ain't they?"

"Sit down," Rikki snapped, finally starting to lose her

patience. She grabbed Zane's arm, stopping him midgrowl as he

began to climb over the back of his seat. "You, too. Before you

get us all thrown out."

"Rikki…"

She kept her hand on his arm, her nails digging in tight, determined

to handle this situation herself. Without violence.

Though, she had to admit, a teeny, tiny part of her liked how protective

Zane was, even if she usually had absolutely no use for

such blatant displays of testosterone.

"You. Sit. I mean it," she ordered the intoxicated stranger,

pointing to his seat.

The man sat.

"Now, I'm quite certain that somewhere in your beer-sodden

_70 Slow Hands_

brain, you believe I'm flattered by your eloquently worded…

_compliments_." Rikki didn't have to raise her voice to make sure

she was being heard. All around them, conversations had quieted,

and she didn't think a single spectator in their section was

watching what was going on down in the field. The showdown

here was apparently much more interesting.

"However, while I'm sure you are a man who possesses many

admirable porcine qualities, as you can see, I _am _here in the

company of another gentleman. And neither of us appreciates

your attentions. Will you please, therefore, refrain from commenting

further and allow us to get back to the game?"

The man's mouth fell open. "What'd she say?"

The embarrassed-looking man next to him—his friend who'd

made no effort to provide backup to the drunk—muttered, "I'm

pretty sure she told you to shut the hell up."

"Yeah," someone else said. "So please do us all a favor and

do it!"

"Oh," the drunk said, finally glancing around and realizing

what a spectacle he'd made of himself. If Rikki had railed at

him, he probably wouldn't have backed down. As it was, though,

her calm, courteous reply made him look an absolute fool. And

he wasn't too drunk to realize it.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Thank you." Rikki smiled and nodded politely, then turned

back around to face the field, putting a definite end to the interaction.

It was the top of the ninth and things were getting interesting.

She wasn't going to waste another moment of the

beautiful day on a blithering fool.

She didn't even glance over as Zane slowly dropped back into

his seat beside her. "I can take care of myself, you know," she

murmured, watching the field.

"Yeah, I noticed." Zane leaned closer, near enough for her to

feel the warmth of his breath on her hair. Not to mention the way

_Leslie Kelly 71_

his shoulders shook with laughter. His anger had disappeared as

quickly as steam off a bathroom mirror. "Correct me if I'm

wrong…did you just call him a pig?"

"I'm certain I don't know what you mean."

"Uh-huh. Sure you don't."

Still chuckling, Zane casually dropped his big, solid hand

onto her thigh, above her knee, and squeezed it. Not exactly the

most erogenous zone on her body, but still, every molecule inside

her leaped to attention. Her blood roared in her veins at the feel

of that strong, warm touch, and she was completely incapable

of stopping the visual images that flooded her mind.

Rikki's skin tingled beneath the soft fabric of her capris at

the thought of him sliding that touch higher, caressing her all the

way up her thigh as he kissed her again, just as he had in the car.

Slow, sweet…then deeper, harder. Wetter and faster.

She wanted him to kiss her in every way a man could kiss a

woman. And in every place on her body.

God, she was a wreck. Yet he seemed completely unaffected,

still smiling that easygoing smile. "Remind me never to get on

your bad side. I'm slightly more literate than our friend back

there. And I do believe that tongue of yours could draw blood if

the person actually understood what the hell you were saying."

Rikki tried to force her heart to slow its rapid pace, striving

for the same nonchalance Zane obviously felt about his casually

possessive touch on her leg.

She didn't succeed. Her pulse still raced, her breaths grew fast

and uneven. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the strong,

deeply tanned fingers starkly outlined against her clothing.

Then, thank heaven, she was saved. Because with the bases

loaded, the next player at bat hit one out of the park. The entire

stadium roared, rising to its feet as if one huge, sinuous being,

Rikki and Zane among them.

_72 Slow Hands_

Whoever that player was, she could kiss him, she really could.

Because somehow, during the euphoric celebrations of the home

team's victory, she managed to calm down and put all her protective

gear firmly back in place.

_Almost through_, she reminded herself. Their date was almost

done, then she could forget about this day, forget about him.

Seeing the way he'd been completely unaffected by a simple

touch that had left her breathless had reminded her of just who

she was dealing with her. This man dealt in intimate touches and

was completely unaffected by them.

She, however, was not, and would never be. Which meant she

needed to put an end to this ridiculous date. And get back to her

regularly scheduled life.


	6. Chapter 5

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_5_

SITTING AT A GOUGED and pitted oak table at a popular downtown

pub that evening, Zane watched carefully for the first sign that

Rikki wasn't enjoying herself. So far, he'd seen absolutely

nothing. Not even her run-in with the obnoxious drunk at the

stadium had affected her.

He still wanted to laugh when he thought about it. He'd seen

women erupt on rude men, had witnessed his baby sister throw

a glass vase at her boyfriend's head. But he'd never seen one

completely emasculate a guy with her mouth…without the idiot

ever even realizing it.

Most impressive.

"I can't believe I'm eating like this."

They'd been munching on chicken wings and a mountain of

nachos. And to his surprise, Rikki had opted for beer, sharing

a half pitcher with him, instead of some sweet, girlie drink. She

seemed relaxed. If not outright laughing, she at least smiled

more than once.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. I don't think they even serve

salads here, unless they're topped with deep-fried chicken and

a mountain of cheese."

One fine, delicate brow arched and she stared at him with

quiet reproach, though a hint of a smile lurked on her beautiful

mouth. "What are you suggesting, Zane? That I should only be

eating salads?"

_74 Slow Hands_

He backpedaled, holding up a quick, defensive hand. Damn,

how could guys avoid these basic traps women always set out

for them? "No way." Grinning, he added, "Just seems like the

only things my sisters ever ordered. God forbid one of them

should ever have taken a bite out of a hamburger, especially if

one of their boyfriends was around."

"It's a female thing." She sighed heavily, as if accepting something

that was inevitable. "Not just the instinct to watch what we

eat, so we can look like what all the media images _tell _us we

should look like. There's also a need to eat lightly in front of men,

as if we need to assure them we're on top of things and will never

gain weight."

"When secretly you're all dying for wings and nachos?"

She licked her lips, then smacked them together before

reaching for another. "Yes. Any of your sisters married?"

"The oldest, with three kids—twin boys and a girl. And Blair,

who's a year older than me, is engaged."

"Uh-huh. Watch her at the wedding reception. She's going to

bite into the first piece of cake she's had since she decided he

was _the one_, and will look like she's already had her first orgasm

of the night."

Knowing his big sister, Rikki was probably right. Then the

orgasm part of her statement kicked in and he coughed into his fist.

She didn't even seem to notice. "Which is why most new

wives gain a few pounds in the first year of marriage, not including

the weight of the rock on their hand."

"So should I be flattered that you're on your fourth wing? You

don't need to worry about impressing me?" He wondered what

she'd say if she knew he was more impressed by her adorable

honesty and the way she licked the tips of her fingers after each

nibble. _Yum_.

"Exactly. Because this is not a legitimate date."

"Says you."

_Leslie Kelly 75_

"Says me."

"What if it was?"

She snorted an inelegant laugh that sounded completely

unlike her, but incredibly cute. "Then I would have asked for a

bread stick and a glass of water."

He _knew _this one. "With lemon!"

"Of course. Natural diuretic." She wagged her eyebrows, a

very un-Rikkilike move. "You're good."

"Hello, three sisters?"

"_Three? _Goodness, you do get a lot of torment."

She had no idea. The older two used to dress him up as a baby

doll and play with him when they were kids. Usually choosing

to dress him as a girl. Not that he was about to tell _her _that.

"What if I wanted it to be?" he asked.

"Wanted it to be what?"

Knowing he was pushing it, but realizing he had an opening

provided by the beer or two, which had helped her loosen up, he

plunged forward. "A real date."

She shook her head, dipping the appetizer into a tiny dish of

blue cheese dressing. "Not an option."

Wow, talk about shooting a guy down without a moment's

hesitation. But Zane didn't worry…the night was young. He had

a few hours to change her mind.

Besides, he knew where she worked. She'd soon find out

that he didn't give up on something he wanted quite that easily.

And he most definitely wanted her. More with every minute

that passed.

He risked a quick, appreciative look across the table at her

curvy figure, so incredibly sexy in her hot pink top. "By the way,

in my opinion you don't have a _thing _to worry about."

"Ha. I have huge breasts, short legs, what my father likes to

call my late mother's 'childbearing hips' and a big backside."

As if any man would complain about a single one of those

_76 Slow Hands_

things? Was she for real? "Honey from where I'm sitting, you

are just about perfect."

"From where you're sitting, you can't _see _the extra fifteen

pounds that couldn't be removed frommybody by a plastic surgeon

using an industrial Shop-Vac instead of a liposuction machine."

He barked a quick laugh. "You're not going to get an agreement

from any man alive on that score, Rikki Chadwick. You

are shaped exactly the way a woman should be shaped."

"Uh-huh," she said, disbelief ringing clearly in her voice.

"Tell that to the Chicago Club set who have replica Paris fashion

models on their arms."

"You're beautiful," he said firmly, not allowing her to argue it.

Thinking about what she'd said, he added, "And if you let some

quack touch you I'll have to hunt him down and put a hurt on him."

"Are you always so aggressive?"

"Are you always so hard on yourself?"

That appeared to shock her. Rikki's mouth dropped open, as

if he'd accused her of having an extra limb. "Hard on myself? _Me?_

I've got a well-known reputation as a self-confident ice queen."

"Maybe in the financial world." He reached across the table

and smoothed back a long, silky strand of hair that had escaped

her ponytail, touching her cheek lightly in the process. "Not in

the real one."

Rikki froze for a moment, allowing the brief caress. Then,

as he could have predicted, she carefully slid away from it, as if

realizing she'd been getting far too comfortable around him.

Now she was putting that distance back—that wall.

He didn't take it personally. Especially because he had

realized something—the separation wasn't just between her and

him, but between her and _everyone. _As if she constantly had to

keep a shield in place to prevent anyone from getting too close.

Or from getting too obnoxious, like the guy at the ballpark,

whom she had so easily put in his place.

_Leslie Kelly 77_

He knew from experience that the absolute worst thing to do

with a woman who already had her guard up was to try to

stampede through he'd downplayed that casual

touch at the stadium. Jeez, he'd meant to offer her a way-to-go

squeeze but had ended up completely dumbstruck by the way the

simple brush of his hand against her leg had made him feel.

Awed. Hot. Out of his mind hungry.

And he'd had to pretend he'd felt absolutely _nothing_. Or risk

adding to the armor he'd finally begun to slowly chip away.

"I have plenty of self-confidence. Just because I don't appear

on the social pages with a different man every week doesn't

mean I don't know I'm moderately attractive."

Attractive didn't even begin to describe her.

"I don't have the time or the energy for any of that romantic

nonsense."

"So who was he?" he asked, not even looking into her eyes

as he reached for his beer.

"Who was who?"

"The guy who gave you such a negative outlook on love."

He wondered for a moment if she would take offense, but her

soft laughter told him she hadn't. "Uh, remember who you're

talking to? Jason Chadwick's daughter sitting over here?"

Zane had brought his mug to his mouth but hadn't yet sipped.

He slowly lowered it. "Your father is the one who convinced you

you're better off being alone?"

"For the most part." Her eyes shifted, she wasn't telling the

whole story, but at least she was opening up a little.

He wasn't willing to risk her shutting down by pushing into

areas she didn't want to discuss. Still, she'd brought it up—

again. She'd mentioned her father's romantic issues during their

walk. "Just because he's had some bad luck?"

"I've seen my father fall in and out of love so many times

the word has simply lost its meaning. I've come to realize he's

_78 Slow Hands_

in love with being in love." Her mouth twisted. "Then there's

Tabby, my sister."

The name hinted at what she was probably like. "Older or

younger?"

"Older. Divorced once, on her second engagement since. She

hasn't quite nailed down that true love thing, either, though not

for lack of trying. A lot."

"And what about Rikki?"

"Not interested."

"Not even a chance you're wrong about that, huh?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Not worth it."

He pointed to her glass. "It's more than half-full."

She pointed to his. "Yours is almost empty."

"Easily remedied." Reaching for the half pitcher, he topped

up his mug. "See? It's all in your perspective."

Rikki frowned, though he'd swear he saw a hint of unguarded

humor in her eyes. It was quickly gone and her manner

returned to aloof, unaffected, unmoved. "Perspective doesn't

change fact. And I really don't know why we're even talking

about this. We're here, together, because of a charity obligation,

not out of any real interest or—" her voice faltered for the first

time "—attraction."

"Speak for yourself."

Her pulse fluttered visibly in her throat.

"I am _incredibly _attracted to you." He knew he risked scaring

her off again, but could be nothing but honest. There was no way

he could allowher to go on believing hewas only here because she'd

bid on him at some charity event. "In case that kiss earlier didn't

clue you in, let me give it to you straight. I have wanted you since

I spotted you from behind the curtains the other night at the auction."

For the second time since he'd known her, Zane had managed

to shock Rikki speechless. She stared at him, blinking a few

times, her mouth open but no sounds coming out.

_Leslie Kelly 79_

Why the hell she should be surprised, he had no idea. She had

to have seen the lust in his eyes the night they met, before he'd

realized she wouldn't appreciate any kind of obvious come-ons

and gotten himself under control. And the woman was sexy

enough to make a ninety-year-old beg his doctor for a year's

supply of Viagra.

Yet she seemed entirely oblivious to it.

Color washed through her beautiful cheeks. Rikki's lips

parted as she breathed across them. Even from across the table,

he could see the way her chest moved with each deep inhalation.

His body reacted. The lazy hunger that had been flowing

through his veins focused in tighter, right in his crotch. "You

can't tell me you didn't realize it."

She swallowed, shaking her head. "I did. But I just assumed

you were being…that you were used to making women feel like

you wanted them, because, you know, I'd bid so much." Regaining

some confidence, she leaned over and accused him with one

hard stare. "You haven't looked at me _that _way all day today."

"Did you not notice that I almost tore a guy's head off because

_he _looked at you _that _way."

"That's different. He was drunk and stupid and…"

"Porcine?"

"Exactly."

"I'm not a pig. I'm a gentleman." Tension snapping between

them, he leaned closer, keeping his voice low and intimate.

Raking a hot glance over her, he admitted, "And a gentleman

doesn't come right out on a first date and tell a woman he wants

to smother her beautiful nipples in sugar and then suck every bit

of sweetness right out of her until she's begging to be taken."

She gasped, but he was too far gone. Both his mouth…and

his body, which was now rock-hard beneath the table.

"And it wouldn't have been terribly polite of me to tell you

I've been wondering all day what color panties you have on.

_80 Slow Hands_

Whether it's a thong, whether the curves of your ass are really

as round and sweet as I think they are."

"Zane…"

"Or that if I fell into your incredible breasts and smothered

to death, I'd die with a smile on my face."

"Oh my."

"Or that when I touched your leg this afternoon, all I could

think of was how slim your thighs are. How easily my hands

would wrap around them. How amazing it would be to lift them

over my shoulders, getting the best possible angle so I could

plunge into you, _hard, _and fill you so completely you feel like

you're gonna break in half."

"Holy shit," someone said.

It wasn't her.

Sanity returned as he realized their waitress stood beside the

table, wide-eyed, pink-cheeked. And all ears. "Wow, hot stuff,

if she says no, you can have my number!"

The young woman appeared entirely serious. Which didn't

help things, judging by the way the woman sitting across from

him narrowed her eyes and clenched her arms tightly around her

chest. Small wonder…he'd verbally molested her in front of

witnesses. Some gentleman.

"Jesus, Rikki…"

"We're finished," she snapped, almost launching herself to

her feet. She threw a fistful of cash down on the table, ignoring

the waitress, who still watched them, and not sparing Zane

another glance.

She didn't even wait for him, or look to see if he was following.

Instead, without another word, she wove her way through

the crowd toward the door, not looking left or right, her dark

ponytail bouncing against her stiff shoulders with every step.

Oh, God, had he ever screwed this up.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled to the waitress.

_Leslie Kelly 81_

Zane closed his eyes and shook his head, about as embarrassed

as he'd ever been in his life. Heaven help him if his sisters—or

worse, his father—ever heard about this. Talk about not treating

a lady right. He'd blown it, starting with the sex talk that had been

overheard, and ending with her throwing down a small fortune

to pay for dinner, when he would _never _have let her pick up the

tab.

Wanting to crawl out of the place, he settled for a fast walk.

He hit the front door with both palms and strode outside, half

expecting to see Rikki's taillights as she zipped her tiny

sports car out of the parking lot, dumping his butt right here

at the bar.

But her car remained on the far side of the lot, where she'd

parked it. He hadn't gotten more than a half-dozen steps toward

it in the warm evening air when he was grabbed. Two hands

bunched in the front of his T-shirt and pushed him. Zane stumbled

over his own feet until he was backed against the dark, shadowy

side of the old brick building.

"Rikki…"

"Shut up." Her eyes sparked and her breathing was choppy

as she glared up at him. She looked ready to hit him.

Instead, she did something far more unexpected. She threw

her arms around his neck, pressed that hot body against his, and

caught his mouth in a deep, hard kiss.

She wasn't angry. The ice princess was on fire.

For _him_.

She kissed the taste out of his mouth, thrusting her tongue

against his wildly as she tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape

of his neck. Zane instinctively dropped his hands, reaching for

the round curves of the ass he'd been admiring since they met.

Cupping those curves, he savored the softness, squeezing her

lightly. He was going to love holding her cheeks tightly when

she was naked and on top of him. Plunging down onto him, over

and over until he lost his mind and exploded inside her.

_82 Slow Hands_

Tugging her up for a nicer fit, he rocked into her, letting her

feel his throbbing erection, getting off at the pleasure of sex

against sex, despite their clothes.

She whimpered, ground back, tilted her hips against him to

bring her heat directly against the seam straining to hold back

his cock. Groaning, running her hands frantically over his shoulders

and chest now, she continued to play wildly in his mouth.

Her soft lips molded to every millimeter of his, her tongue

ravaged his as if she was hungry enough to devour him whole.

Finally, she drew away, gasping for breath, but not stopping.

Oh, no, she merely moved her mouth to his neck, tasting the

sweat he knew had gathered there, kissing her way frantically

to the hollow of his throat, even biting lightly.

"I want you so much."

"I noticed."

"Did you really mean those things you said inside?"

He spun her around, backing her against the building now,

taking control. "Hell, _yes_."

It was crazy—they were outside, in a public place, it wasn't

even ten o'clock and anyone could walk out of the bar at any

minute. But he didn't care. If he didn't get more of her, he'd die.

Simply blow up and die.

"This really is…personal? Just about attraction, nothing

else?" she asked, watching him intently, as if still needing to be

sure.

"Rikki, I don't give a damn where we met, who you are, or

that you bid on me for some charity. I have wanted you since the

moment I set eyes on you."

She nodded slowly, letting her eyes drift closed, silently

giving her assent.

"Don't stop me," he whispered hoarsely as he tugged her

ponytail holder off and ran his fingers through that thick, dark

_Leslie Kelly 83_

hair, spreading it across her shoulders. He tasted her soft earlobe,

moving slowly down the long line of her delicate neck, nibbling

lightly, savoring the unique flavors of skin and woman.

"Stopping you isn't even a consideration."

Soon he was breathing down the front of her shirt, his lips

scraping the vulnerable skin just above the seam. Unable to resist,

he nudged the fabric down enough to gain access, groaning

when he saw a hint of her breasts rising above the edge of a hot

pink bra.

He _had _to go further. Running the tip of his tongue across

that deep line of cleavage, he grabbed her hips when she

started to sag.

"Zane…"

"More." He didn't ask, didn't think, didn't hesitate. He merely

reached for the bottom of her shirt and began to tug it up. He

was dying to touch her, hold her, suck her.

She whimpered when he slid his hand inside the bra, cupping

her, tugging the incredibly soft, warm mound free of its containment.

Then he could only look at her, wondering if he'd ever seen

a more beautiful woman—with her head thrown back, eyes wild,

hair a tangled brown mass. Her lips were wet, her mouth open,

and her full, gorgeous breast was topped by a puckered pink

nipple that begged to be tasted.

"No sugar handy," he mumbled, "but I know you're sweet

enough."

Then he confirmed it, covering the taut tip with his mouth and

sucking, quick, hard, not sure which of them was more shocked

by the pleasure of it.

God knows howfar he might have taken it…they were both that

far gone. But a car suddenly turned into the parking lot, washing

the outside entrance with light. It spilled to within a foot of where

they stood as the vehicle turned into a corner parking spot.

_84 Slow Hands_

"Help me," she snapped, desperately trying to yank her bra

back in place.

He did, pushing her hands out of the way and, with regret,

covering those incredible curves. Edging around, he blocked

the view of her body with his own. If anybody did spy them, all

they'd see was a couple kissing in the shadows.

A trio of laughing young women passed within a few feet of

them, exchanging loud, knowing whispers. Once they were gone,

he stared down at a still wide-eyed Rikki and offered her a slow,

knowing smile. "You ready to get out of here?"

She nibbled on her bottom lip for a split second, nearly giving

him a heart attack as he feared she was getting cold feet.

He should have known better. Because, with pure, sexual determination

on her face, she grabbed his hand and dragged him

to her car. "You drive," she snapped. "I know you don't like chick

cars, but my legs are shaking too much."

She tossed him the keys, which he caught in midair. Opening

the passenger side door for her, he helped her in, bending low

to ask, "Where are we going?"

She muttered an uptown address.

"I don't think that's where we left my truck." He didn't know

why he got such a kick out of teasing her, especially because,

honestly, if she walked away from him now, he'd have to go

douse himself in liquid hydrogen to cool off.

"It's my place. It's close. I have an _enormous _bed and an incredible

bathroom."

He smiled slowly. "I'm catching the vision."

"My bathtub could fit three people."

"Sorry, Ms. Chadwick, not into anything kinky." When her eyes

widened, he took pity and grinned. "I'm sure we can make full

use of it, just the two of us."

"Good." She ran the tip of one finger across his bottom lip.

"Now get in and _drive_."

_Leslie Kelly 85_

SHE SHOULD BE having regrets, or at least second thoughts. But

as they drove into the night—Zane's foot riding a little heavier on

the gas pedal than hers usually did—she could only anticipate.

He wanted her. Just _wanted _her. Those dark eyes hadn't been

appraising herworth; he hadn't been using any tried-and-true lines

of seduction that had worked on the many women in his past.

Hadn't for one second made her feel that she was nothing but a

client to him. But he _had _made her feel absolutely dizzy with desire.

Her reservations had begun to dissipate when he'd thrown that

line about dipping her nipples in sugar. By the time he'd gotten to

the breaking her in half part, she'd been practically stuck to her

chair.

Unable to wait, she reached over and dropped her hand onto

his leg.

"Uh-uh," he growled.

She ignored him, sliding her hand higher. But before she

could capture the bulging prize she desperately wanted to trace

with her fingertips, he dropped his hand over hers and squeezed.

"No."

"You don't want me to touch you?" she whispered, knowing

thewords were untrue. Despite the shadowy interior of the car, she

could _see _just howmuch hewanted her , judging by the

way he'd felt when pressed against her, he had a lot to be touched.

She shivered in her seat.

"Hell, yes, I want you to touch me."

She twisted more, her other hand reaching for his hip. He

couldn't stop her…couldn't drive no-handed.

"But _not _at the risk of both of us getting killed." He glanced

over, serious, almost pleading with her to back off. "Please,

babe, we'll be there soon, I promise. I've seen way too many

street wrecks to even consider doing something so unsafe,

despite how much I'm dying to feel your hands on me."

_86 Slow Hands_

Babe. No one had ever called her that. She suspected she

should be insulted by it, as a modern, independent woman. But

she wasn't. Especially not when he'd also admitted his blatant

need in that thick, hungry tone.

"I want to spend the night inside your tight little body, not a

hospital emergency room."

"Wow," she muttered, collapsing into her seat. Blunt he may

be, but the man _definitely _knew how to use words to their best

effect.

"You okay?"

Voiceless, she merely nodded.

One of her hands remained on his leg, covered by his. Zane

slowly lifted it to his lips. Pressing a soft kiss on her fingers, he

said, "I'll make it up to you. I plan to make you feel incredible

all night long."

_All night long_. Oh, goodness. His tone had been sultry and full

of promise. Her whole body was already on edge, thrumming and

alive from that crazy-hot encounter outside the , with his

sweet whisper washing over her, she went almost gooey with

want.

But not so gooey that she didn't realize she had one remaining

coherent brain cell, which hissed a final word of caution in

her ear. _Unsafe_, he'd said. He wouldn't do something unsafe.

God, she hadn't even thought about the safe sex aspect of this

crazy, impulsive decision. She, who thought herway around every

problem at least a dozen times before committing to a response,

had skipped right past the inherent dangers of his profession. She'd

agreed to let a man who had sex for money pleasure her all night

long, without a thought of her own physical well-being until now.

How did one handle this type of situation? It wasn't as if she'd

ever encountered it, or heard of a guidebook describing how

_Leslie Kelly 87_

someone made sure a hired lover wasn't carrying around any

nasty reminders of previous _clients_.

Then she thought about it. Oliver had cheated on her, not only

with the snow ho, but with many others. Or so she'd heard after

they broke up.

She knew guys who'd had sex with dozens of girls in high

school and college. Sometimes they even proudly offered different

colored bracelets to the girls they scored with, so the easier

ones could advertise just how far they were willing to go—and

thereby get more dates. More meaningless sexual partners.

Just because _she _had only ever had a half-dozen or so lovers

didn't mean everyone else in her circle had. Many, she suspected,

probably had as much experience as a pro like Zane did.

Some even more.

Her sister included.

So she decided to treat him as she would any other potential

lover. _Openly_.

"We have to use protection. I have condoms at my place."

His eyes widened and he glanced over at her, his handsome

face—hard-planed, masculine, magnificent—spotlighted by the

headlights of cars in the distance.

"I mean, it's not that I don't trust you. But in this day and age…"

"I'm not offended."

Thank goodness.

He returned his focus to the road. "Just so we're clear, I'm

also not hiding any unpleasant conditions. I have to get routine

physicals, it's part of the job, and I am entirely healthy."

She didn't really want to talk about his job, or even think

about it. _This is personal_, she reminded herself. So she simply

replied, "Great." Then, since fair was fair, added, "For the record,

I'm absolutely fine, too."

_88 Slow Hands_

He grinned and winked, breaking the awkward moment.

"Yes, indeed, you are, Ms. Chadwick. Absolutely _fine_."

Then there was nothing left. No barriers. No excuses. No

doubts. They'd reached her building and he was pulling into her

private parking space in the underground garage. Their next stop

would be the elevator, and then her penthouse apartment.

After that, a night in the arms of the kind of lover women

competed for. Dreamed about.

And for this one night, he was entirely hers.


	7. Chapter 6

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_6_

THOUGH HE RECOGNIZED the exclusive high-rise building, and had

beenwarned by Rikki's comments about her bed and her bathtub,

Zane hadn't really been prepared for the opulence of her home.

First of all, only in movies had he ever seen keyed elevators

that opened directly into private apartments. He didn't think they

actually existed.

Not that he'd really been paying attention until the doors had

quietly swished open with a subdued ding. Because from the

moment they'd gotten into the elevator downin the garage, he'd had

his hand on Rikki's soft ass and his mouth on the side of her neck.

The scent of her warm brown hair and her sweet skin had intoxicated

him and he'd been unable to resist moving behind her,

grinding into her, reaching around to press his hand onto her

stomach and pull her hard against him.

They'd _both _been distracted then. She'd lifted her arm behind

her to drape it around his neck, holding him in place. Arching

back against his erection, she'd groaned with a kind of raw,

primal pleasure that told him she might just like this particular

position with her clothes _off._

Mmm.

That could definitely be arranged, though not until he'd had

her face-to-face, breath-to-breath first. He wanted to watch her

eyes as he slowly sank into her, wanted to feel her gasps, hear

the little hitch in her throat as she whimpered at how good it felt.

_90 Slow Hands_

After that…well, he couldn't even begin to list the ways he

wanted this woman.

He'd envisioned most of them on the way up. Then they'd

reached her floor, the doors had opened, and he felt as though

he'd stepped into a designer furniture store where Oprah shopped

up on the Magnificent Mile.

The entryway was tiled with what he'd speculate was Italian

marble, not that he'd ever seen it. But he doubted they'd allow

the fake stuff in this building.

Tall, graceful vases with a profusion of perfectly placed,

enormous white flowers stood on either side of the foyer, providing

an almost snowy, winter welcome. Right in the middle of June.

Beyond lay a plushly carpeted, sunken living area. More vases

and flowers stood sentry throughout. Big, gold-leaf framed mirrors

sent his own reflection back to him a dozen times. Several pieces

of expensive-looking, froufrou art were on display, discreetly

placed fixtures flooding them with light from just the right angle.

A huge white leather sofa looked too pristine to sit on, and

he'd probably have to sell his truck to replace the marble-topped

coffee table if he dared leave a drink ring on it.

The place was unbelievably elegant. Dripping with expensive

furnishings. Beautiful. Rich-looking.

And about as cold a room as he'd ever seen.

Entirely suitable for the ice princess of the financial district. But

not for thewoman who'd grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him

up against thewall outside that pub to kiss the lips right off his face.

Rikki was watching him, having stepped inside ahead of

him to punch a few buttons on a security alarm panel. There was

a glimmer of hesitation in her expression, as if she really cared

what he thought about her home. _Why _she'd care about the

opinion of a blue-collar rescue worker, whose single piece of art

in his apartment was an eight-by-ten framed picture of a Dalmatian

on a fire truck, he had no idea.

_Leslie Kelly 91_

"Well?"

"Wow."

She wrapped her arms around her waist and stared at the

room, obviously noting his unenthusiastic response. "My sister

decorated it for me," she whispered. "I just don't have the knack

for that sort of thing. Or the vision."

That figured. From what he'd heard so far, he had absolutely

no interest in ever meeting the sister. Especially not if she envisioned

_this _when she looked at Rikki, whom she obviously did

not really know at all.

"Great view," he mumbled, meaning that. She did have an

amazing view of the magnificently lit Chicago skyline. One

entire wall of windows ran the width of the living room, laying

out the city below as if he was looking at a galaxy of stars from

above.

She perked up, smiling broadly. "Isn't it? That's why I bought

it. Well, that and the bathroom."

Bought it. She _owned _this icy masterpiece. Not her father,

not her family. She didn't just rent it. The woman he'd taken

out for wings and beer had enough money to actually _purchase_

a place like this.

He'd known that. Logically, he'd known. Still, the meaning

of it had at last completely sunk in.

His feet suddenly felt leaden. For the first time since the

moment they'd met, Zane felt the slightest bit intimidated. Uneasy

at the stark, irrefutable evidence of how different they were.

There was no way he could keep up with this. Nor would he

ever even want to try.

"What's wrong?"

He threw off the momentary uneasiness. Tomorrow, maybe

he'd think about how unsuited they were for one another. Tonight,

well, they were perfectly suited in the only way that _really _mattered.

He'd could definitely keep up with her in other ways.

_92 Slow Hands_

Starting in her bedroom.

"Nothing." He gave her a wolfish smile. "So where is this

three-man bathtub?"

"Hey, none of that kinky stuff," she reminded him with a

saucy wink. Then she turned and sashayed down the hall, kicking

her cute, strappy sandals off her feet midstride, as if not wanting

to waste time once they reached the bed.

He followed, not in any hurry, because they had all night, but

still unable to stop himself from lifting his shirt over his head

and tossing it to the floor with her shoes.

She led him into a darkened room, flipped on the light, and

spun around to gauge his reaction. But when she saw him

standing there in just his soft, low-slung jeans, she froze as if

she'd never seen a man's body before.

"Oh, my God."

The sexy woman actually licked her lips while her gaze

greedily roamed over his bare chest and shoulders. She looked

even hungrier than she had when their waitress had deposited a

pile of nachos in front of her tonight.

"I never imagined," she whispered, lifting her hand toward

him. She didn't step closer, merely scraping the tip of one

finger down his throat, until reaching the hollow of his throat.

There it remained, connected by the tiniest strand of staticcharged

air to his raging pulse. "I've never seen a more beautiful

man."

Zane half groaned and half laughed.

"I mean it. You're beautiful. You should be on display somewhere,

dipped in bronze. You're so hard, so strong." She ran her

hand down his chest, letting her pink-tinged nails rake lightly

across his abs. She didn't pause, caressing him until she reached

the waistband of his jeans, which hung low on his hips. Visibly

swallowing, she added, "Yet so lean, too."

"You're killing me. You know this, right?"

_Leslie Kelly 93_

She ignored him. "I'd pictured…when I went to the auction,

I'd figured you'd be skinny. Elegant. Not…not like _this_."

He barked a harsh laugh. Skinny he was not. And elegant he'd

never tried to be. "I work out sometimes. Not out of vanity, out

of necessity."

There was no way Zane would put somebody's life at risk by

letting himself get too out of shape to do his lifted gurneys—

usually with heavy bodies on them—every single squeezed

into small spaces in collapsed buildings, he often hauled around

some backbreakingly heavy equipment. Those things mattered—

possibly enough to be the difference between life and death to an

injured person. Staying in top physical condition was an absolute

requirement for his own safety and for that of others.

"Is it a necessity that your shoulders are as broad as my legs

are long?"

He chuckled, glancing down at those delicate, sexy legs, in

such perfect proportion to the rest of her, despite her claim that

they were too short. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration." Then

he reached for her hips, cupped them and drew her close. "But

I'm willing to examine them, up close and personal, just to make

sure."

"I'd hate to ask such a sacrifice of you."

"What can I say? I'm a nice guy."

Rikki, who'd been inching closer as they engaged in the

light, verbal foreplay, tilted her head back and watched him

intently. "You are, aren't you."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

She shook her head. "You're a contradiction, that's all. I don't

know that I understand you."

"Understand this." He said nothing more, bending down to

cover her mouth with his. Slipping his hands into her hair to cup

her head, he licked her lips, demanding access.

Rikki opened for him, her tongue meeting with his in a

_94 Slow Hands_

warm, slow exploration. Different from the crazy-hot kiss outside

the pub. Different…but just as good.

Their bodies melted together in fluid grace, rather than

heated, crazed grinding. Her softness cradled every hard place

on him, molding to his chest, his groin, his thighs. Every delicate

curve offered warmth and welcome and pure feminine invitation.

"Zane…" she whispered against his mouth, though he knew

she had nothing to say. Nothing that really needed to be said.

They'd talked a lot since they'd met. Now it was time for their

bodies to do all the communicating.

Reaching for the bottom of her pink top, Zane tugged it free

of her waistband, sliding it up with agonizing restraint. He didn't

look, didn't trust himself to _see _her yet and not completely lose

control. He concentrated instead on kissing her temple, tracing

her high cheekbone with his mouth, kissing his way to the lobe

of her ear. And continuing to pull that fabric up, inch by inch,

allowing only the tips of his fingers the pleasure of contact with

her warm, soft skin.

She was gasping, her choppy breaths hitting his neck as she

twisted against his hands. "Please."

"Mmm, hmm," he replied, not giving her the frenzy she

wanted. She might have been calling the shots back outside the

pub. But for now, their first time, he was taking control.

He liked it slow. And intended to make her slow down, too.

He wanted Rikki to accept every ounce of pleasure he could

give her rather than rushing them both directly toward that precipice

and leaping over it.

"You have the softest skin I have ever felt," he murmured.

"Yours is rough," she whispered, her voice throaty, hungry.

Rubbing her face against his lightly grizzled jaw, she shivered

and added, "Deliciously rough."

"Not too rough for your cheek?"

She shook her head, wordless, mindless, as if afraid to distract

_Leslie Kelly 95_

him from the unhurried, steady progress he was making with her

shirt. He'd reached the bottom edges of her bra now. Remembering

their earlier encounter, his mind flooded with the image

of that hot pink lace barely covering those magnificent mounds

and luscious, taut nipples.

"Not too rough for your neck, either?" He moved there,

kissing his way down her throat, pressing his mouth to the

hollow.

She shook her head again. Lifting her hands to his head, she

twined her fingers in his hair. Zane edged away just enough to

smooth her top all the way up, his palms skimming against the

sides of her breasts, then all the way along her upraised arms. He

disentangled the fabric from her long, thick hair, then tossed it

aside.

Looking down at her, he muttered a silent prayer for strength,

picturing the endless ways he wanted to savor these twin things

of beauty, barely contained by their lacy covering. Oh, _so _many

ways. _Soon._

"What about here?" he asked, easing down her body. "Too

rough here, sweetheart?" He slowly dropped to his knees in front

of her, letting his mouth skim past the very center of the pretty,

frilly bra until he reached the vulnerable skin of her midriff.

She hitched a sigh. It turned into a moan when Zane rubbed

his cheek there, licking at the tender, pale spot where hot pink

lace met hot creamy woman.

"That's…that's fine…"

"Good. So I'm guessing this is okay, too." He edged lower,

kissing his way down her belly, dipping his tongue into the small

indentation for a taste, then going down to her waistband. She

made no effort to stop him as he unbuttoned, unzipped, then

pushed her pants down, letting his cheek come in contact with

more of her body as it was revealed.

"That is _definitely _okay."

_96 Slow Hands_

More than okay for him. Especially as he drew back enough

to watch her cropped pants fall away. That left her clad in a miniscule

pair of panties. A patch of pink fabric danced over the dark

curls he saw shadowed between her legs, and a thin, lacy string

looped over each full hip.

He rubbed and nibbled and licked his way along them, around

to her hip, almost groaning as he saw how little there was in the

back. Little? Make that nothing.

_Thong. Oh yeah_.

He had to reach out and touch with his hands, cupping her

full cheeks and squeezing. "Incredible. Don't you _ever _let me

hear you say you want to change this body again."

The way her legs shook and her hips moved in tiny, nearly

imperceptible thrusts told him what she wanted. More intimate

touches. More intimate kisses.

_More_.

Still clasping her bottom, he tugged her closer, tilting her

pelvis so his mouth scraped against the front of her panties. He

inhaled her, breathed across her, amazed at the softness of the

curls against his lips, looking delicate and so pretty, even through

the fabric.

"Oh, God, please," she groaned.

He could give her what she wanted. Could easily nudge aside

the elastic, dip his tongue, swirl it low. Could already imagine

the way she'd writhe when he caressed the throbbing nub of flesh

at the top of her mound. Could almost taste the warm, womanly

essence he was inhaling with every deep breath. He desperately

wanted to lick into the lips of her sex and drink deeply of her,

knowing it would take a long time to quench his thirst.

But that would be getting ahead of the game.

So, instead, he began working his way back up. "Now that

we're sure I don't need to shave, where were we?"

She whimpered, shaking as he passed by her most erogenous

_Leslie Kelly 97_

spots. "I take it back, you're not a nice guy," she said in a broken

whisper. "You're just being mean now."

"Oh, Rikki, I'm not mean." Now standing directly in front

of her, he tenderly stroked her face and brushed a soft kiss on

her mouth. "I'm just very, _very _patient."

Without another word, he bent over and picked her up, carrying

her effortlessly to the huge bed that dominated her room. And

began to show her how very patient he could be.

RIKKI WAS DYING. And living. Flying. Spinning. Both crying

in frustration and shouting in pure delight as she climaxed again

and again. Over the next hour, as Zane—with his incredible

mouth, his miraculous hands—continued to touch, kiss, taste

every inch of her body, she found herself unable to do a single

thing but enjoy it.

Rational thoughts drifted away. There was only sensation.

No decision to arch up when his tongue scraped across her nipple,

just a primal need to have him suckle her again. No conscious

awareness that he intended to make the most intimate love to her

with his mouth, just the shocking delight of it when his tongue

slipped between her wet folds and unerringly delved into her

core.

"Oh, God, again?" she groaned, disbelieving as the pressure

built, then roared into heat that rushed to every other part of her.

She had not known she was physically capable of such continuous

delight. The waves kept coming, relentlessly, like the

pounding of the surf on a shore during a wild winter storm.

They built, took her high, threw her over the crest into wild

orgasm. Then eased back down, only to start building all over

again with a stroke here or a kiss there.

She understood now. Why women fought over him.

The man had to be the world's greatest lover.

"I think I have to be in you now, Rikki."

_98 Slow Hands_

"I'd say it's about damn time," she gasped. "But I'd be lying

if I didn't admit I've loved every single minute."

"I know." No cockiness. Just pure, sultry self-confidence.

He slid up her body, finally unfastening his jeans and pushing

them off his hips as he moved over her. She kissed him, licking

into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue but not giving a damn.

But she was not about to let him sheathe himself with one of

the condoms she'd grabbed from the bedside table without at

least a little reciprocation. Rikki had been dying to experience

some of what he'd done. To touch, to stroke, to _see _him at the

very least. He had ruthlessly stopped her every previous effort

to do so in his determination to please her.

Now, the incredible willpower seemed to have finally left him.

He was almost beyond rational thought, too.

Rikki pushed him onto his back, rolling up to kneel beside

him, staring at the immense golden chest, the wiry hair surrounding

his nipples. It trailed in a thin line down his flat stomach, disappearing

beneath the waistband of his tight boxer briefs.

"Oh my," she whispered, seeing the big bulge in the middle

of those briefs. She'd certainly felt the power of him pressed

against her, but her eyes hadn't yet experienced the pleasure. Nor

had her hands. Or her mouth.

That was about to change.

She reached out, tentatively, touching a spot of wetness on

the fabric. Almost dazed with need, she brought her finger to her

tongue and tasted it.

"Rikki…"

"I don't want to hear one word out of you," she warned

sternly. "Not a single word."

"Yes, ma'am." Laughter danced in his eyes, but didn't spill

from his mouth. No, his mouth was too busy emitting a deep,

guttural groan as Rikki reached down and tugged at the briefs.

She was careful, cautious when pulling them out and down.

_Leslie Kelly 99_

Rikki wanted that magnificent erection revealed to her as deliberately,

slowly and seductively as her breasts had been to him.

As if she was opening some very special, beautifully wrapped

present that was going to make her incredibly happy.

Well, wasn't she?

Her hand shook as the side of her pinky brushed against the

smooth, incredibly soft skin beneath the cotton. Some anticipatory

devil made her close her eyes, wanting to delay the delicious

moment of exposure.

When she'd finally pulled the boxers all the way to his hips,

Zane lifted up a little and pushed them down and off himself.

And Rikki finally opened her eyes.

"Oh, Zane," she whispered, unable to contain a tiny gasp of

surprise. Not just because of how incredibly hard—aroused,

throbbing and proud—he was, but at the pure masculine beauty

of him. Still kneeling at his hip, she smiled—almost purred,

really—as she stared greedily at the velvet-skinned member.

Her last lover had been incredibly long and thin _there_, believing

his extreme length made any kind of skill unnecessary.

Zane, well, he was something else _entirely_. He might not have

the inordinate length, but she should have expected, given the

breadth of his shoulders and chest, that the man would be unbelievably

thick in other places, too.

_My God._

Soon he'd be doing exactly as he'd promised earlier—filling

her so completely she'd wonder if she was going to break in half.

They seemed to have skipped past the basics of a new sexual

relationship, as Rikki understood them. Which meant she didn't

have to wait until the second or third time they slept together to

do what she was just dying to do. Reaching out, she stroked him,

one long caress along the back of his erection, then delicately

touched the taut sacs beneath.

He hissed. She remained undeterred. Spreading her hand

_100 Slow Hands_

wide, she encircled as much of him as she could, then slowly

moved closer, her mouth going wet with hunger.

"Rikki!"

"Not a word," she reminded him.

Then there was no more talking, just the sensation of her lips

sliding over the smooth round head, her tongue moistening him

enough so she could take a little more. And a little more after

that.

Not oblivious to his clenched fists or the rock-hard muscles

in his stomach, that said he was fighting very hard to remain in

control, Rikki showed no mercy.

She liked how he tasted. She liked how he felt in her mouth.

She liked the scrape of his hard-yet-soft flesh against the insides

of her cheeks, and the tiny groan he made when she took him

all the way, as deep as he could possibly go.

That was when he lost it.

Without another word, Zane pushed her away. He grabbed

her by the shoulders and yanked her up, flipping her on her

back so fast, she didn't even have time to process the change

in position.

"Uh-uh. I don't think so."

Rikki put on an intentional pout, liking that she'd driven him

to such desperation. "But I was having fun."

"You can have more of that kind of fun later. I'm not coming

in your mouth. I want to do it inside your body."

"My mouth's part of my body…"

He thrust a thick, hard finger into her dripping sex, making

her gasp and arch hard against his hand. "_Here. _Iwant to be here."

Another finger joined it, and he moved them in and out, slowly

making love to her…preparing her. "Right now, I think I need to

be inside you more than I need to live until my thirtieth birthday."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she murmured, "Well,

we can't have you not surviving your twenties."

_Leslie Kelly 101_

Zane kissed her, hard and deep, then grabbed the condom which

he'd already torn open. She reached to help him, but he pushed

her hand away. "Don't push me, babe, I'm holding on by a thread."

"Does that mean it's going to be over really quickly?" she

asked, unable to hide a hint of worry.

Rather than take offense, Zane threw his head back and

laughed. "Hell, no. It means that once I'm in you, you can't

torment me anymore."

"Torment you?" She arched a brow. "Was that what I was

doing?"

"Yeah, babe, it was, and you know it. You were trying to

drive me wild, and oh, it was definitely working."

_Good._

"And being inside you is _also _going to drive me wild," he

admitted. "But there, at least, I can stay very still." His whiskey

tone promised incredible delights, seducing her word by word.

"I can indulge in the feel of you wrapped around me. Not

moving, just savoring."

"Not moving?" The idea of trying to remain still when _that_

was inside her was beyond comprehension.

"Not a muscle," he growled. "Not until I feel capable of _really_

getting started."

Getting started. Oh, my. As if she hadn't already had more

orgasms in the past hour than she'd had during her entire relationship

with her ex.

He pushed her legs apart—far enough apart to accommodate

the breadth of him, and Rikki arched up, opening herself in

welcome. Maybe a teeny, tiny bit tentative.

As if knowing, Zane kissed her tenderly, whispering soft

words against her mouth that relaxed her, telling her he'd never

do anything to hurt her.

Slowly, with more of that unbelievable restraint he seemed

to have by the barrel, he eased into her. Just the tip of his heat,

_102 Slow Hands_

then an inch more, and even more after that. Until, finally, he

plunged deep, drawing a deep, guttural gasp from both of them.

Just as he'd promised, he filled her completely.

She whimpered, needing to move, overwhelmed by how damn

_good _it felt. Her muscles reacted, squeezed, milked him deep

inside.

"Wait," he growled.

"I'm not moving," she protested in her own defense.

"The hell you're not."

She squeezed again, helpless against her body's instinctive

response.

This time, he didn't order her to stop, he merely distracted her

by lowering a hand between them. Tweaking and toying with her

throbbing clit, he brought all her focus there. Filled by him, covered

by him, touched by him, everything came together once more and

within moments he had her crying out as she came again.

"Mmm," he groaned, his eyes closed, obviously feeling the

involuntary clench of every muscle she had.

Finally, when she'd begun to feel somewhat sane again,

Zane pulled out, slowly, slid back, just as slowly, going a little

deeper, stretching her a little wider, driving her out of what was

left of her mind.

"Now, Rikki," he whispered hoarsely, sounding as if he was

finally letting himself go completely, "now we're getting started."


	8. Chapter 7

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_7_

ZANE WOULD HAVE LOVED nothing more than to spend a whole

day in bed with Rikki. But very early the next morning, after

a full night of the most intense lovemaking of his life, he glanced

at the clock by her bed and knew he had to go. His shift started

in two hours and he still had to flag down a cab to get him back

to the lot where he'd left his truck. Then he'd need to rush home,

shower and grab his gear.

Besides, Rikki had already taken yesterday afternoon off for

the game. He doubted he could cajole another day of hooky

fromwork out of thewoman, despite howdesperately she needed

one.

He hated to wake her, but he certainly wasn't going to leave

without saying goodbye. Knowing he shouldn't delay, he still

couldn't force himself to do anything but watch her sleep for just

a little while longer.

Rikki's long lashes rested on her cheeks, her beautiful, kissreddened

lips were parted as she drew in slow, even breaths. The

sun had begun to rise, glints of light appearing on the horizon

laid out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of her bedroom. As

he watched her slumber, long rays of brilliant golden sunshine

gradually traveled across the room, falling onto the bed. It caught

the highlights in her hair and spotlighted her beautiful face.

No ice queen this. She looked as warm and sensual as a

summer angel.

_104 Slow Hands_

"Rikki?" he whispered, leaning over to brush a soft kiss on

the corner of her mouth. "I've got to go."

She went from a deep sleep to full wakefulness in an instant,

her eyes flying open. Staring at the ceiling, he could almost see

the wheels churning in her brain as she put together the

memories of all the wild and wicked things they'd done together

the night before.

Finally, licking her lips, she turned her head to look at him.

"Zane."

"Expecting somebody else?" he asked with a laugh.

He bent to kiss her good-morning, but Rikki slipped away

before he could do it. She scooted to the edge of the bed, stood,

then glanced down at her naked body.

She wore nothing but sunlight _very _well.

Unfortunately, she didn't wear it for long. Grabbing a silky

robe from her dresser, she yanked it on. She tied the sash tightly

around her waist, crossed her arms and clenched the fabric in her

fists, still not sparing him a glance.

Rikki was obviously suffering a case of morning-after embarrassment.

For that reason, he didn't have the heart to tease

her about covering up what he'd seen a whole lot of the night

before.

Finally she spoke. "I, uh, have to get ready for work." Gesturing

toward the hallway, she added, "There's another bathroom

right down the hall, if you'd like to take a shower, too."

Zane frowned, realizing this wasn't just a case of misplaced

shyness. Rikki was trying desperately to get everything back

under control, to put her life back in its natural order. She'd surrendered

that control—in fact, allowed some serious _dis_order—

last night, giving herself over to him, body and mind. Now, in

the clear light of morning, she wanted it back.

All of it.

"I'll take one at home," he murmured, honestly not knowing

_Leslie Kelly 105_

how to proceed. For the first time since he'd met her, he was at

a loss as to how to deal with this woman.

Then he remembered his parents, grandparents and all the

other successful couples he'd ever known. They had one thing

in common—the ability to give and take. To be in charge, and

to step back. Ebb and flow.

He'd had his way last night. Maybe it was time to let her have

hers, even if it meant allowing her to start building those barriers

around herself once more.

He could get past them again. Last night had proved it.

Suddenly appearing stricken, Rikki said, "Oh, I just remembered,

we left your truck…"

"It's not a problem. I'll hail a cab to take me over to the lot."

He wondered for a second if she'd tell him not to bother.

She didn't.

Okay. Interlude definitely over. Time to get out, let her get

her head together and start planning for next time.

"When can I see you again?"

She clenched the robe tighter. "Again?"

"Never heard of a second date?"

"Ours wasn't exactly a typical first one for me."

He couldn't prevent a confident smile. "I sure hope not."

Rikki's chin went up. "Was it for _you?_"

He didn't even hesitate. "Not a chance. Last night was…well,

something I never expected. But it's something I'm very thankful

for." Glancing at the clock, he muttered a curse and hunted

around on the floor for his clothes. "I really do have to go,

though. There are people counting on me."

He found his things and began to dress, finally looking back

at her, to see her frozen in the same spot, her face pale, her eyes

narrowed, as if she'd been glaring at him behind his back. "Are

you mad about something?" he asked, dropping his jeans and

stepping closer.

_106 Slow Hands_

"No. Don't be silly. The sun's a little blinding, that's all."

She cleared her throat. "Go on, finish dressing, we've both got

places to be."

Something was seriously wrong. And if he hadn't already

played on his lieutenant's mercy to get a schedule change yesterday

to attend the game, he'd seriously consider trying to find

someone to cover for him. As it was, he didn't have that option.

Ninety minutes left. Damn.

He stepped into the jeans, yanking them up. "Let's get

together…day after tomorrow?"

"You're busy until then, I assume?" Talk about icy-toned.

"Yeah. Booked solid for the next forty-eight hours." He had

a twenty-four-hour shift, then a twelve, with on-call time in

between. The last thing he wanted was to get busy doing something

incredible with this woman and get called out, having to

leave her high and dry. And him high and _hard_.

"I see."

"I'll take you to dinner." Suddenly remembering what had

happened at the pub, Zane reached into his back pocket and

pulled out his wallet. "Speaking of which, I need to pay you back

for last night. Some gentleman I am."

She waved an airy hand. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not some macho he-man, okay?" he said, "But you

shelled out twenty-five thousand dollars and the least I can do

is cover some wings and beer."

Rikki's smile was tight and it did not soften her beautiful

brown eyes one bit. "That wasn't the _least _you could do. You did

a whole lot more than that last night for my twenty-five thousand

dollars. So let's call it even."

It took him a second to catch her meaning, and when he did,

Zane couldn't stop a half-amused, half-annoyed grunt. "Uh, it's

flattering that you think I might be worth it, but you didn't pay

me all that money so I'd spend last night in your bed."

_Leslie Kelly 107_

"No, I paid a charity."

_For a night in bed with him_. She didn't say it. The implication

was clear.

He chalked up her belligerence to her own uncertainty and

didn't call her on the fact that she'd just backhandedly called him

a male prostitute. "You're being ridiculous."

"Why _did _you spend last night in my bed?"

Yeesh, thewoman had some seriously selective memory. Good

thing he suspected she was worth this much effort. "Because, as I

already told you, I _wanted _you. Period. End of story." _And I still do_.

"Okay." Nodding and lifting her chin, she admitted, "I wanted

you, too. But now that's over, and I really think we should quit

while we're ahead."

His jaw dropped. "What?"

"Last night was lovely, Zane. But I don't think we'll be seeing

each other again."

He had had enough of giving Rikki her space. Walking the

few feet it took to get to her, he took her chin in his hand, forcing

her to look at him. "What the hell is wrong?"

She jerked away. "Nothing's wrong. I just can't deal with this.

With the…difficulties of this situation. So we need to end it here

and now." Finally uncrossing her arms, she ran a weary hand over

her eyes. "I can't imagine seeing you under…_professional _circumstances."

"Well, Jesus, I hope not. I don't want to see you hurt."

"Thank you," she murmured. Then she stiffened again. "But

I can't see you personally, either. Because, as much as I might

_say _I'm modern and hip and can handle anything, that would end

up bothering me, too."

There was that pessimistic streak. He'd been wondering when

it would return. The woman had been covered by it for so long,

he was surprised she'd been able to get out from under the weight

of her disdain for romance long enough to go to bed with him.

_108 Slow Hands_

"Goodbye, Zane," she said, not even giving him a chance to

respond. Instead, she spun around, walked into her bathroom and

shut the door firmly behind her.

_Give it up. Come back for round three_.

But he didn't listen to the voice in his head. Not this time.

Instead, he finished dressing, put on his boots, then knocked on

the bathroom door. "I'm leaving now. But I want you to know,

this isn't over."

Hearing the shower go on inside, he knocked harder.

"Damn it, Rikki, at least tell me you'll talk to me about this

in a few days."

She didn't come out. But she did answer. And what she said

shocked Zane so much he couldn't make his brain work for

several long seconds.

"No. I can't do it. Once was enough. I can't go to bed with

you again, wondering whose bed you just left, and how much

she paid you to be there."

_Paid _him?

"I'm not criticizing you for the way you live, but frankly, Zane,

I can't afford you. Financially, yes. Emotionally, however, I

don't have that kind of currency to spend. Now please leave."

He stared at the door, his jaw falling open, staggering back into

her room until his legs hit the onto it, still stunned.

The woman thought he had sex for money. Despite what he'd

said about wanting her from first sight, she truly believed he'd

spent last night here as some kind of sick, twisted payoff for the

cash she'd shelled out at the auction. She'd completely ignored

everything he'd said, everything they'd shared. She hadn't trusted

that he'd actually felt something real and genuine for her.

"What the hell kind ofworld do you live in, lady?" he muttered

under his breath, still staring at the closed door. Then he glanced

around the room—done in white and silver—cold and icy like the

rest of the place. And remembered the kind of world she lived in.

_Leslie Kelly 109_

One where anything could be bought for a price…including

people, including love didn't exist, or at least, didn't last.

One that absolutely had no place for somebody like him.

"CAN YOU PLEASE explain this to me? You had the best night of

your life with a dreamboat of a man who could give lessons to

the god of love, and you told him you never wanted to see him

again. Does that about sum it up?"

Rikki cast a quick glance around the quiet, upscale restaurant

a few blocks from the bank. It was empty except for a few

late-lunch–early-Friday-happy-hour patrons, none of whom, fortunately,

appeared to have overheard Tabitha's way-too-personal

observation.

She still glared at her sister, who, as usual, was impeccably

dressed, perfectly groomed, not an ash-blond hair out of place.

And looking every bit as put-together as Rikki felt torn apart.

"Yes. That sums it up very well, to me and every other person

in the place."

Tabby rolled her eyes, entirely unrepentant. "I think the stork

mixed you up with a nun's baby at birth." The incongruity of that

statement didn't seem to occur to her older sibling, who shook

her head, reached into her expensive purse and retrieved a

jeweled cigarette case. "You're just too demure to be my sister."

"Uh, madam?" a voice said from beside the table. The obsequious

maître d' had appeared like a vapor. "I'm afraid you

cannot smoke here."

Tabby audibly growled, put the case away and muttered

behind the retreating man's stiff back. "Can't smoke around

Bradley, can't smoke in public…." Then she snapped her long,

red-tinted nails against the pristine white tablecloth, tapping out

a beat in visible irritation. "Tell me why not."

"Why can't you smoke? Aside from it being horribly unhealthy,

and—"

_110 Slow Hands_

"Why you can't be with him," Tabby growled, not fooled one

bit. And she was even more pissy now that she couldn't light up.

Rikki started with the obvious. "Well, he _is _a prostitute."

"So? You're telling me most of the women we know haven't

essentially prostituted themselves by trading sex for the right size

diamond on their finger?"

"You included?" Rikki asked, hoping her sister was not

marrying for the wrong reason. Again.

"Money has nothing to do with why I'm marrying Bradley."

Tabitha's tone was sharp. "I love him. Besides, you and I both

know I don't need his money, and he doesn't need mine."

That was one reason Rikki had high hopes for her sister's

next marriage. There was no obvious reason—beyond compatibility

and real emotion—for the couple to wed. "True."

"The point is, people trade commodities all the time.

Money for property. Stocks for liquid assets. Sex for marriage.

Look at my mother—off on some yacht in the Mediterranean

with her latest. Do you know she's not even coming home for

the wedding?"

Having met Tabitha's mother more than a few times while

growing up, Rikki could muster no surprise. Sympathy, yes.

But no surprise.

"Anyway," Tabitha continued, returning to the subject at hand,

far beyond any ability to be hurt by her neglectful mother. "Why

not a hot affair for a few bucks?"

She tried to put it in perspective for her sister. "Have you

noticed that I've never bought a used car?"

"As if you'd need to," Tabitha replied, not getting the point.

Remaining patient, Rikki bit out, "I don't particularly care

to take another nighttime spin with someone who's piling on the

mileage with other drivers during the day."

"Ahh, I get it. That is a little, um, distasteful," Tabitha

admitted. Grimacing, she continued. "Imagine if Bitsy Welling_Leslie_

_Kelly 111_

ton or one of those old collagen-injected, stapled-together

wicked witches tracked him down."

Thank God her sister hadn't mentioned their stepmother's

name. That mental image was enough to make Rikki nauseous.

"But certainly you're not naive enough to think men don't

sleep around." Squinting her nose in disgust, Tabitha added,

"You certainly should have learned that much from that bastard

Oliver."

"I did. But it's not just the physical squeamishness. I actually

like Zane. Maybe I like him too much," Rikki admitted,

angry both at herself for voicing the words, and at Tabby for

making her.

"Oh." Her sister's expression softened. "I see."

Rikki believed she did.

"It's not the ick factor. It would be too _emotionally _painful to

be with him one day," Tabitha mused, "knowing he might have

been with someone else the night before."

Exactly. Painful. Uncomfortable. Too much to take.

Rikki was a strong woman, but she was not _that _strong. She

had already developed feelings for Zane in the brief time they'd

spent together. _Friendly feelings_, she forced herself to remember.

_Just _friendly.

Well, and lustful ones, she had to concede.

But with just those—_friendly _feelings—it had still horrified her

to think of him leaving her homeWednesday morning to go spend

forty-eight hours with anotherwoman due to a previous booking.

How much worse it might be if she continued to see him, she

couldn't imagine. Which was why she was still certain she'd

made the right decision in sending him away. Even if, at least

physically, she'd been regretting it ever since.

Her mind had been one hundred percent responsible for the

plan. But her body was still pretty unhappy about it.

"Maybe he'd give it up for you."

_112 Slow Hands_

"Don't be ridiculous. Why should he? He's known me for less

than ten days."

Tabitha pursed her lips slightly, then lifted her hand and

rubbed her chin. Rikki recognized the look. It was what got her

into this mess in the first place. "No."

"No what?"

"No to whatever scheme you've come up with."

"You wound me."

"You have dragon scales in place of skin, Tab. You can't be

wounded."

"I can if I'm struck through the heart." That should have

come across as earnest and sincere, but Rikki knew her sister

well enough to hear the note of jaded amusement.

"Well, I don't have scales or protective armor around _my_

heart, either. So I'm not risking it." _Not now. Not ever again_.

"Think of it logically—what would you be risking if you got

involved with him _physically_?"

"Uh, humiliation, jealousy?"

Tabby got to the point. "But those things wouldn't be an issue

if he wasn't seeing anybody else."

"We've been over this already. I'm not going to ask a man I've

known for less than two weeks to change his whole life for me."

Not only because it was too much to ask, but because she

already knew he'd say no. Any reasonable person would resist

a major life change like that this early in a relationship. Unless

they were really—_really_—head over heels in love.

Which didn't describe her and Zane Wallace.

Legs over shoulders in lust? Absolutely. But nothing more.

Not a chance.

"So don't ask him to change a thing." Tabitha reached for her

wineglass and smiled like the proverbial Cheshire chat. "Just hire

him full-time."

Rikki had taken a sip of her own, but Tabby's comment

_Leslie Kelly 113_

nearly made her spew it out. "What?" Noting the attention her

yelped response had garnered, she leaned over the table and

kept her voice low. "Are you insane?"

"Are you telling me you can't afford it? Come on, you have

the money. Call him up, ask him how much he'd charge to be

exclusive for, say, one month."

_Exclusive_.

"Then take that month and use it to see what happens. You

either get him out of your system, or you find out the two of you

really can develop something meaningful."

"Meaningful enough to…"

Tabby finished the thought. "To see if he'd be willing to

make a permanent _career _change." Her sister reached across

the table, covering Rikki's hand and squeezing it gently, with

tenderness that always lurked beneath the surface but was so

rarely shown. "And to see if you can finally let yourself believe

in love again."

"Love," Rikki said with a snort. That wasn't even part of this

whole situation. She'd said she _liked _Zane, not that she was

falling in love with him. She wasn't _ever _going to fall in love with

anyone again. Everyone else in her family had that emotion well

taken care of.

Lust…well, lust she could handle. And liking. And maybe

some more of the fun she sensed she could have with Zane

Wallace. As for the rest—him quitting his "career" for her?

Crazy. Madness. Absolutely out of the question.

But for some reason, during the drive home and the long

night that followed, Rikki could not get her sister's suggestion

out of her mind. And she was still considering it when

she woke up the next day.

IT HAD BEEN THREE FULL DAYS and Zane still hadn't quite gotten

over his anger—and his confusion—about what had happened with

_114 Slow Hands_

Rikki Wednesday. He'd gone over it again and again. Replayed

every moment, every conversation, every look, every touch.

When, he wondered, had she decided he was the kind of man

who could be bought?

She had to be jaded beyond belief. Normal people's minds

just didn't _go _there for no reason. Which should have been

enough to make it easy to live with the fact that they'd never see

each other again. But instead, it made him pretty damn angry.

Angry—and even sad for her at having become so hard because

of her unusual family life.

He was trying determinedly to forget about her. Not successfully,

but giving it his best shot. Which was why he'd put his all

into this morning's game.

On Saturday mornings, he liked to play baseball with a couple

of guys from work. Whoever was off duty met up at a local

park—near the station so the on-call guys could join them once

in a while.

They'd just finished five innings, with Zane playing third

base, before calling it quits because of the already blazing heat

of the day and the noon shift change. As he headed toward the

benches for his stuff, his cell phone rang. He grabbed it from the

side buttoned pocket of his shorts and glanced at the caller ID,

but didn't recognize the number.

"Wallace," he barked into it. He tilted his head to hold the

phone in the crook of his shoulder while he bagged his stuff and

waved to a couple of the guys heading back to the station house.

A feminine throat clearing was the only response at first.

And he'd recognize that feminine throat anywhere.

"Rikki?"

"Yes. Did I interrupt you? I can call back."

"It's fine," he said, wishing he didn't automatically go on full

alert at the sound of her voice.

He'd been caught off guard, that was all. He hadn't expected

_Leslie Kelly 115_

to ever hear from her again. That—and the strenuous game—explained

his thudding heart and shortness of breath. Nothing else.

"I wondered if we could meet."

The thudding doubled. Then he focused on her words. _Meet_.

Not _go out_.

"Why? You made things pretty clear the other day about

where we stood."

"I regret that," she said coolly, sounding not the least bit

contrite. The ice queen at her iciest. "And I do apologize."

"Sure."

"I have, however, had a change of heart." Finally her tone

faltered, a chink of uncertainty appearing in her fully armored

voice. "I may have been a bit too…hasty when I said I didn't

want to see you again."

He should tell her to get lost. To take her money, her ice cave

disguised as a home and her really twisted assumptions about

him and take a hike.

He didn't. Maybe because of that tiny note of uncertainty.

Maybe because of the way her hair had looked spread across her

pillow in the dawn's first light the other morning. Or the way

those dimples flashed every time she genuinely smiled.

He could refuse the ice queen.

But he couldn't refuse the Rikki he'd made love to. The one

who was no longer breathing into the phone, as if her breath had

been trapped in her lungs and she was holding it close, waiting

for his answer. Uncertain. Unsure.

Vulnerable.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'd like to get together. To…talk things over. I might have a

solution to our situation."

"Fine." She breathed again, audibly. And he smiled a little.

"We'll talk. We definitely have some things to clear up."

Starting with the whole ridiculous notion she had that he'd

_116 Slow Hands_

slept with her only because she'd put out a whole bunch of

money first.

_Weren't hookers—male or female—supposed to actually _keep

_the money they earned?_

He almost laughed at the thought, but didn't. Not while

Rikki was still trying to carefully set up a meeting without revealing

how anxious she truly was.

He _so _did not get the woman. But he would. Very soon.

"Are you free this afternoon?" she asked.

"I am."

"Wonderful. I, uh…was thinking of taking the boat out. Do

you like being on the water?"

The only time he'd been on a boat had been one of those

offshore casino ships during a trip to Florida a few years ago.

He'd been seasick and had gotten a headache from the constant

dings of the slot machines.

"Yeah, love it." _Stupid. She's not going to let her guard down_

_if you're heaving over the side._

But it was too late. He'd already agreed, and quickly made a

note of the location of the boat, docked at the DuSable Harbor

marina. He had an hour to get there. Then he'd find out exactly

what kind of _solution _Ms. Rikki Chadwick had for their _situation_.

Zane had one, too. A three-pronged one.

Him telling her she was an idiot to think her money had

anything to do with his feelings for her. Her shutting up and believing

it. And them getting naked.

Sounded like a great solution to him.


	9. Chapter 8

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_8_

RIKKI HAD ALREADY BEEN aboard the _Magdalena _when she

called Zane on Saturday. The decision to ask him to come with

her this afternoon had been an impromptu one. Well, mostly.

She'd intended to call him, having thought all night about her

sister's suggestion. At the very least, she wanted to feel him out

about the possibility of working "exclusively" for her.

But she hadn't intended to take him out on the water. That

had been spontaneous. And also a little sneaky.

It wouldn't be easy for him to laugh in her face and walk away

at the very idea if they were a few miles from shore. Not unless

he was a really good swimmer.

"My God, I'm turning into my sister," she whispered,

knowing Tabitha would approve of the manipulative tactics.

She'd probably also approve of Rikki's attire. Though she

hadn't dressed with Zane in mind when she'd made the decision

to take the boat out today, she wore a devastatingly skimpy fireengine

red bikini beneath her shorts and tank top.

She usually took the cutter out alone, despite her father's

frequent protests. But she was able to handle herself on the lake.

And when out there alone, she liked to sunbathe without wearing

even as much as that skimpy little bathing suit.

How much fun would it be to do it with someone else?

She'd readied the sails and finished preparations when she

saw him walking up the dock toward her. Waving, she called, "I

see you found it okay."

_118 Slow Hands_

"Uh-huh." He gestured toward the side, where _Magdalena_

was lovingly painted in large, script letters. "I like the name."

"My mother's," she murmured.

Zane nodded, making no weak, inane, "I'm sorry for your

loss" comment like so many people made when they learned

she'd lost her mother at such a young age. She liked that about

him. One of many things she liked about him.

He looked over the cutter again, from the cabin up to the top

of the mast, obviously taken aback by its size. "Do I have to ask

for permission to come aboard?"

"You don't have to. Permission _is _granted."

Then he was there, beside her, all tan and masculine, wearing

a loose-fitting T-shirt, swim trunks and leather flip-flops. He even

had beautiful legs and _feet _for a man.

She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing, waiting for

some sign from him. Was he angry? Curious? Optimistic?

When he finally did speak, she realized she hadn't even come

close to guessing his mood.

"I'm glad you called," he murmured, tenderly scraping his

lips across her temple. "Really glad."

And just like that, with his sweet touch and his sweeter words,

she knew she couldn't trick him, couldn't get him out so far that

he'd have no choice but to listen to her offer. Nor could she just

seduce him into agreement by stripping off her shorts and top

and laying herself out like a curvy appetizer.

She had to come clean.

"Zane, I think you already know me enough to realize how

difficult this is for me."

"Mmm, hmm." And he wasn't making it any easier, simply

waiting for her to continue.

"The thing is," she murmured, smoothing her hands nervously

over her white sailor shorts, telling herself she was _not _leaving

_Leslie Kelly 119_

sweaty palm prints there. "I really would like to spend more time

with you."

"Ditto. I'd like to spend more time with you, too."

She smiled, but didn't relax yet. "Only, I _don't _want you

spending time with…anyone else."

He tilted a head, confusion evident on his face. "What do you

mean?"

Well, in for a penny, as they said. Taking a deep breath,

Rikki rushed into it, prepared to lay out her well-thought-out

reasons for her outrageous suggestion. "This is probably going

to sound strange and demanding, but the truth is, I'd like to hire

you, full-time. I know you're a professional, and you're _very_

good at what you do." _Oh, so very good. _"And judging by the

number of women fighting over you at the auction, you probably

stay just as busy as you want and never lack for…clients."

His eyes widened. That was all. So she hurried on, logically

explaining her needs, her inhibitions, her conditions, her desires.

She spoke quickly, not looking at him, keeping her attention

somewhere over his right shoulder, at the horizon, her voice

almost tripping over itself as she rushed to get it all out before

she lost her nerve.

"So you see," she said, finally reaching the conclusion of what

she hoped was a persuasive, reasonable speech. "It really makes

sense for both of us. You'll make your usual fee—whatever that

is, I'm sure I can afford I'll have a companion without any

messy, silly feelings or jealousies coming into play. We'll enjoy

each other for a month and walk away satisfied."

Or…maybe not. Maybe neither one of them would want to

walk away. Maybe they'd actually decide they liked one another

enough to continue seeing one another—sleeping together—

without her having to _buy _more time. And with him _choosing _not

to see anyone else.

Not falling in love, never that, but at least falling into a rela_120_

_Slow Hands_

tionship built on mutual attraction and genuine desire. Rather

than mutual attraction and genuine greed.

But she didn't say that, not wanting to scare the man off

before he'd even had a chance to consider her offer.

He was obviously thinking about it now. Thinking carefully.

Zane's brown eyes were narrowed in concentration, his mouth

grimly set, his jaw tight, but not flexing with anger. That was

something at least. He merely appeared intense, as if looking at

this situation from every angle, the way she had.

"Let me make sure I understand," he said, his voice gravelly

and thick. "You would like to pay me a large sum of money to

have sex with you for the next thirty days."

"With _only _me," she clarified.

"Right. Sex with _only _you. A _lot _of sex. All _kinds _of crazy

sex."

She couldn't be blushing. She hadn't blushed since she was

a twelve-year-old whose budding figure had attracted the very

verbal notice of the boys in her class. It was merely the heat of

the summer day hitting her cheeks. God, _please _let her not be

blushing, not now that she'd come this far.

"Well, not just sex." _But mostly sex_. She thought quickly,

scrambling for other duties he could fulfill, to make the whole

thing worth his while and to convince him that she wasn't just

asking out of the selfish, helpless want that had filled her from

the moment they'd met.

She lit upon the perfect thing. "My sister's wedding! It's in

two weeks, and I desperately need an escort. You can be my date.

That's within your purview, isn't it?"

He tsked-tsked lightly. "Buying another date with me, hmm?"

"Well, you are a paid escort, right? Isn't that your usual job title?

You'd actually be _escorting _me, rather than, well, you know, just…"

"Screwing you."

That was very crude. It was also very exciting, almost dan_Leslie_

_Kelly 121_

gerous. She'd never had a man treat her with anything but gentlemanly

restraint, but she sensed that, if she wanted to let him,

Zane could be much more aggressive—_wildly _so.

"But I suppose I could live with being arm candy for a

society wedding."

He'd be a perfect escort, tall and strong and utterly magnificent

in a tux, she knew.

She would _not _think about Tabby laughing her ass off over

this, or about Deborah choking on her chateaubriand. There was

too much at stake right now. Even more than Rikki had suspected,

given the way she could barely breathe.

"So, what do you say? You'd be doing me an enormous favor,"

she insisted, hoping she wasn't babbling. "You already know as

well as I do that I have no use for the typical games—romance

and love and such. I'm a businesswoman and this is a business

proposal I'm making."

"Strictly business. That's the only way you want it."

Gulping, she nodded. It wasn't exactly a lie.

If she and Zane decided at the end of their thirty days that there

was more to this than lust, maybe she'd find her way clear to at

least consider dipping her toes in romance waters again. Maybe.

Really, when she thought about it, this was the perfect way

to build up to that—with no risk. No embarrassment. No scenes

or breakups. It was like getting to test-drive a sporty little

Mercedes for a month without getting her heart set on the pretty

pink color. Without expecting it to possibly look as good to her

in thirty days as it did the day she'd first set eyes on it.

And without letting anybody else behind the wheel until she'd

figured out if she could afford it.

"So, constant wild sex and a date to a wedding for…howmuch?"

Constant wild sex…_think, damn it_. She quickly named a

figure off the top of her head, figuring he had to make at _least_

what a top executive at the bank would make. But she suddenly

_122 Slow Hands_

remembered that before she had stepped into the fray at the

auction, the bid had been over five thousand dollars for one _date_

with the man. Thinking of that, and how incredibly he'd made

love to her, she worried she'd offered far too little.

He didn't respond by so much as the quirk of a muscle.

"If that's not enough…"

"It's enough," he snapped. "Let me ask you something,

Rikki. Why do you think…" He cleared his throat, started

again. "How is it that you _know _so much about me? I mean, about

who I am and what I _do_?"

"My sister told me."

"Gotta love that sister of yours. How'd _she _know?"

"One of the auction sponsors told her about the infamous

male escort, and Tabby found out in advance what number you'd

be. And, of course, the bio in the program fit." Smiling ruefully,

she added, "I'm afraid it wouldn't take much for the rich women

of this town to ferret you out."

"The bio," he murmured, rubbing his hand against his jaw.

"What did it say again?"

"I don't remember exactly. Just something about you being

a world traveler, someone who appreciates fine wine and beautiful

women. It also claimed that you were European. But I've

decided that must just be part of your character—the role you

play. Because if you're anything but a beer-drinking all-

American boy, I'm Mary Poppins."

"Busted, Mary," he muttered, "I guess you're too smart for

me." He crossed his arms over his big chest, still leaving her

hanging, not responding to her offer. She wondered if he liked

to torture bunnies in his spare time, too.

"One more question. If you were set on buying my _services_,

why did you run out on me the night of the auction without even

telling me your name? Did you get cold feet?" He sounded

almost hopeful, for some reason, as if this answer was more im_Leslie_

_Kelly 123_

portant than anything else. "Did you have a change of heart

about doing something so…reckless?"

She shook her head, not sure how much to admit. Especially

since he might be meeting her family members—her father and

his wife—at Tabitha's wedding.

That, however, was the real problem. She couldn't let him

walk into such a situation unprepared and unaware. "I wasn't

buying you for myself."

He closed his eyes slowly, his lips moving as he mumbled

under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I was counting to ten."

"Why?"

"Never mind." His tone weary, he asked, "Who were you

_buying _me for?"

Rikki twisted her hands, leaning against the back of the

captain's chair and gazed around. Her father used to love this

boat—but his new wife didn't like to sail. And Deborah had

made it clear that she also didn't like her husband going out on

the water in a vessel named for another woman, even one who

had died years and years ago.

"Let me guess. It was your sister's idea."

"How did you know that?"

"Intuition. So how come she didn't do it herself?"

"She didn't want to cheat on her fiancé."

The eyes closed again. The mouth moved. She'd swear she

could make out the words _eleven _and _twelve _before he looked at

her once more. "How noble of her."

She was going about this all wrong, nervousness making her

skip around the point instead of getting right to it. So she bit the

bullet. She told him—just enough to make him understand how

important this was, important enough to make her take chances

she'd never have chosen to take.

_124 Slow Hands_

When she'd finished telling him about her father, his new

wife, as well as Bitsy Wellington and her crowd, she concluded,

"So there was no intention by either me, or by Tabby, to do

anything other than make sure your services were not engaged

by our father's wife." A bit grudgingly, she added, "Only Tabby

didn't trust herself not to remain entirely _selfless _about the whole

thing. And I did."

Zane didn't close his eyes this time. He didn't mumble, he

didn't count. And he stopped doing that clenching thing with his

jaw. The broad shoulders relaxed just a bit, and, if she looked

hard, she thought she might see the edges of his mouth twitch

up in the tiniest smile.

"I see. And everything that happened afterward—you and

me—was because you couldn't trust yourself after all?"

Ah. Now she knew why he was looking so relaxed. Because

he'd figured her out. He'd seen through all the rest and come to

the most important point.

"Yes." She lifted a hand and placed it on his chest, right

above his strongly beating heart. "Everything we shared afterward

happened because I was attracted to you. I _wanted _you.

And I still do."

He moved closer, until their bodies brushed lightly, the warm

summer air only an inch wide between them. Laughing softly,

he reached up and stroked her hair. "Oh, Rikki, you crazy

woman. How can you be so smart and yet so totally _nuts?_"

She remained stiff, not melting into him as her instincts were

telling her to. Was he saying yes? Or no?

"I'm not taking your money."

"Oh, yes, you must. I absolutely insist, or it's no deal."

His hand hovered in the air, close to her hair, no longer

touching her. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. I brought my checkbook and I intend to pay you

up front the minute you agree."

_Leslie Kelly 125_

"You're telling me that if I don't say yes, you won't ever see

me again? You'll buy me…but you won't date me? Do you have

any idea how insane that sounds?"

She did. It _was _insane and so far out of character for her, she

hardly even recognized herself.

But that didn't change her mind. Rikki needed to set the

boundaries, the protective ground rules that would let her get out

of this in thirty days with her heart and her pride intact if things

didn'twork out. As, she already suspected given her history, they

would not.

"It's this way or no way, Zane," she said, her tone firm, her

back ramrod stiff. He was now talking to the tough negotiator.

The ice queen.

She kind of ruined the moment by adding, "I'm not looking

for a…a boyfriend."

He gave her a gesturing look.

"Or even a real lover."

"We're lovers, babe."

"Business associates with benefits."

He threw his head back and laughed, which made the thick

muscles in his neck quiver and brought Rikki's attention to the

beads of sweat gathering in the hollow of his throat. Oh, how she

wanted to sample it. And then sample everything else.

But she still didn't have his answer.

"Well?"

"I couldn't be at your beck and call 24-7," he warned. "I have

other obligations. Quite a full schedule." Obviously seeing her

frown, he clarified. "Of course, if we were to come to an agreement,

I'd guarantee that none of those other _obligations _would

ever involve sexual contact with anyone else. Otherwise, a lot

of my time has to be my own. And that _is _a deal-breaker."

Of course he had a private life, everyone did. She already

knew he had a family, _somewhere_. And maybe he really did

_126 Slow Hands_

have other clients that he "escorted" without any of the naughty

goings-on. She could live with that…she hoped.

"Very well."

"Also, just so we're clear, _if _I agree to this _solution _of yours,

you won't be calling all the shots." He raked a hot stare across

her, from her windblown hair, down to the clingy top, which

outlined the red bikini beneath. "You might be paying for my undivided

attention when we're together. But how I choose to _pay_

that attention is up to me."

Rikki shivered lightly, despite the warmth of the day. The

words might have been cool, but the look in his eyes was hot.

_So _hot. And she knew he was telling her he'd be the one in

charge in the bedroom.

Well. She'd bow to the expert on that. She'd be insane not

to, especially after the amazing things he'd done to her

Tuesday night. "Also agreed," she managed to whisper, already

feeling weak in the knees at the thought of him _paying attention_

to her.

"One last point."

"Yes?"

"If I'm not seeing anyone else, you're not either."

That surprised her, considering she hadn't had so much as a

date in more than a year, not until Zane. It also surprised her that

he'd care. She wondered if he had started feeling the crazy mix

of emotions toward her that she already felt for him. The question

also definitely reiterated that hewould not be merely an _employee_.

Rikki nodded slowly. "Okay. Does that mean…"

"Yeah, I guess it does." He reached for her again, sliding his

fingers into her hair, cupping her head, then dragging her forward

until her body was crushed against his. "You've got a deal,

Rikki Chadwick," he whispered.

Then he covered her mouth with his…and sealed that deal

with an earth-shattering kiss.

_Leslie Kelly 127_

A GOOD MAN WOULD HAVE TOLD Rikki the truth right away. A

noble man would have stopped her before she'd ever made her

offer. A kind man would have taken pity and not tormented her

with questions and conditions while she awaited his answer.

And a gentleman would have absolutely refused.

Zane considered himself good. At least a little noble. Pretty

kind, especially to the injured and helpless. And definitely a

gentleman, given his upbringing.

But he'd kept his big mouth shut. He had, in fact, forced

himself not to laugh as Ms. Rikki Chadwick "bought" him for

the next thirty days.

Oh, he hadn't been laughing at first. The idea that he'd been

mistaken for a male hooker—well, that still burned. If it

hadn't resulted in him ending up with this amazing—strongyet-

vulnerable, demure-yet-sexy, icy-and-blazing-hot-woman—

he'd probably be pretty damned furious. As it was, he definitely

had something to say to the auction people, who'd apparently

gotten his information mixed up with that of some Euro-trash

gigolo. Possibly even the Irish-sounding guy who'd gone on

the block immediately after him.

Hmm…he wondered what that dude—billed as the Chicago

firefighter offering beer and baseball—had gone for. And how

Mr. Smooth had felt about it.

At that, he really did laugh.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Rikki asked, obviously hearing him as

they skimmed across the surface of the clear, calm water. The

sun beat down from above, yet with the speed of the wind in the

sails, and the rush of air moving past, he didn't feel the heat.

Well, unless he looked at _her_.

Rikki had taken off her shirt and wore just a pair of soft

white shorts and a flaming red bikini top that couldn't possibly

manage to hold in all her curves at once. Good thing she hadn't

done it while they were docked. There probably would have

_128 Slow Hands_

been a yacht traffic jam caused by all the sailors ogling her as

they sailed out of the marina.

He'd thanked the universe more than once today, even if he

wasn't entirely sure what the hell the universe was up to, given

the crazy situation in which he'd suddenly found himself.

"You really love this, don't you?" he asked, watching her turn

her face into the wind and let it blow her hair in a long, billowing

stream of lush brown behind her.

Here on the water, she seemed fully in her element, completely

caught up in what she was doing. Obviously the woman

knew her way around this vessel and she had unerringly led

them far from shore. She'd given him orders, and he'd followed,

not sure which was sexier—her amazing body, or the way she

barked commands, so sure she was in charge.

Maybe of the boat. Nothing else.

"I do. How about you? Feeling all right?" she asked. "I know

some people get a little seasick."

"I'm fine." Zane wasn't stupid—he'd grabbed some motion

sickness pills on the way to the marina.

"Good."

Eyes on the horizon, Rikki absently lifted her hands and

caught her hair between them, twisting it and tucking it into a

loose bun at her nape. Every move was smooth and fluid, as

elegant and graceful as the _Magdalena _herself.

Zane couldn't help it. He reached out and ran his fingers

through the silky strand veil, pulling it back down.

"Hey!"

"I like seeing the wind blow through your hair," he explained

simply.

She licked her lips, but didn't protest. "Oh."

The hair stayed down.

They continued traveling for another hour, not really talking,

_Leslie Kelly 129_

not really needing to. Zane suspected they were both still replaying

the conversation they'd had back on shore. What they'd

agreed to. What it had meant and where it would lead. Not just

in thirty days…but now.

She'd hired him. But that had nothing to do with the fantasies

playing in his mind. Fantasies about laying her down on a

thick towel, plucking the strings of her bikini and revealing her

magnificent body to the wide-open sky. And his hungry gaze.

Being in bed with her the other night had been fantastic.

Plunging into her beneath the brilliant sun, feeling the heat on

his back that couldn't rival the heat in her tight channel, would

be absolutely mind-blowing.

Though he couldn't exactly see, because of her dark sunglasses,

he felt sure Rikki was watching him. She stole several

long glances at him, especially when he pulled his own shirt off

and let the sun warm his bare skin.

With her stare affecting him as powerfully as a touch, he suspected

her visions—fantasies—mirrored his.

He didn't say a thing, didn't suggest they stop, didn't tell her

how much he wanted her. Instead he let them both think on it

awhile. Build it. Anticipate it.

They'd be dying for it when the time came.

And that time seemed to be now. Rikki wordlessly adjusted

the sails to slow their speed. "Are you hungry?" she asked, not

even looking in his direction. "I brought some lunch. We could

stop for a while to eat."

Stop for a while. 'Bout damn time. "Put it on autopilot and

busy ourselves some other way, you mean?"

Her laugh was thin. Weak and breathy. "Uh…something like

that." She nodded toward the cabin. "There's a bag on the

counter, and another in the fridge. Would you mind getting

them?"

Zane did as she asked, awed once again that the cabin of this

_130 Slow Hands_

boat was bigger than the living room in his small apartment. And

more richly furnished. There was a large, comfortable-looking

bed, but it didn't tempt him. Not yet. He wanted to have Rikki

on the hard planking of the deck, the only ceiling above them a

vivid blue one streaked with golden sunshine.

"Got it?" she called from above.

"Coming." He glanced into the bag on the counter, spying

fresh bread, fancy crackers…and a box of condoms. "Oh, I'm

definitely coming."

Retrieving a bag of cheese and fruit from the fridge, plus an icy

bottle of champagne and two glasses, he brought everything up on

deck. When he spied the name on the label and the pricy brand of

cheese, he whistled. "You do sail prepared." Putting the food down

on a small table between two lounge chairs, he murmured, "You

must have been pretty sure I'd say yes to your proposal."

"Actually," she admitted, "I had originally planned to whisk

you out here onto the water and ply you with food and alcohol

before I asked you."

Her amusing, matter-of-fact tone took the sting out of her surprisingly

honest confession. "If you'd taken off those shorts, it

probably would have worked."

Laughing softly, Rikki reached for the button at her waist

and unfastened it. A quick flick of her fingers and the cotton

fabric fell to puddle at her feet, and was then kicked away.

"Oh, God," he whispered, pushing his sunglasses onto the top

of his head with his index finger. Then he could only stare in voracious

hunger at the curve of her hips, the line of her thighs, the

hollow above her groin where the fabric of her bikini ended. Not

at all stick-thin, she was just so damned womanly, curvy and soft,

made to cushion a man in welcome.

The woman simply took his breath away.

"It _definitely _would have worked," he finally muttered.

Rikki reached into the bag, grabbed a grape and popped it

_Leslie Kelly 131_

into her mouth. Sighing in pleasure at the cool sweetness, she

took another one, licking the juice that squirted from it off her

lips, then sat in one of the lounge chairs. She stretched out like

a cat in a pool of warm sunshine. "I know. But I couldn't go

through with it."

He couldn't take his eyes off her long enough to ask why.

She explained anyway. "I wanted you to really think about

my idea, not be seduced into accepting it." She offered him an

impish smile. "If you'd said no, however, I might just have

shanghaied you and tried to change your mind."

"If I had said no, I'd have deserved to be struck dead on the

spot." Zane sat on the end of her chair, ignoring his own. "You

really thought I'd refuse?"

"You almost did. Didn't you."

Yeah. He almost had. At least until the whole story had come

out and he'd begun to understand _why _Rikki had been treating

him like a gigolo. Then he'd been amused and ready to tell her

the truth—that he was a simple paramedic and that being with

her for the next thirty days, or thirty years, he'd begun to suspect,

would be entirely his pleasure.

Her bald refusal to even consider letting him close without

paying him, however, had quickly squelched that idea. He didn't

entirely understand her reasoning, but he had at least a suspicion

about what was driving her.

Rikki's self-protective walls had been built brick by brick

with the help of her father and her hard-edged sister, not to

mention all the jaded people she'd been surrounded with all her

life. Then there was whatever secret hurt she'd suffered in a past

relationship—he knew there was one. She hadn't opened up

about it yet, but he didn't doubt she'd been burned. Badly.

So she was protecting herself. In the only way she knew how.

She was hiding behind the wall built of her money and her icy

reputation, keeping him on the other side. Not about to genuinely

_132 Slow Hands_

trust anyone enough to try a real relationship—especially not

someone she thought was a damned male whore.

If she set the boundaries, went in expecting no emotion, no

true feelings, she couldn't be hurt.

God, his heart ached for her. He wanted to take her into his

arms and hold her, assure her that not every man was like the

ones she'd known before. Let her know she could trust him—

that he was _not _who she thought he was, not by a long shot.

Part of him suspected she'd be relieved, happy, willing to

accept that he was an average guy who was falling for her.

Another part of him feared she'd shove him off the boat…and

out of her life for good.

Zane wasn't about to take that chance. And _that _was why he'd

gone along with the insanity.

"I didn't. And I'm here," he finally said, thrusting away the

momentary guilt about not opening up to her. He would…soon.

Just as soon as he'd convinced her to give him a shot—a real

one—and made sure she knew he would never intentionally hurt

her. As _someone _obviously had.

"I'm glad."

She pulled her sunglasses off as she leaned toward him. Zane

met her halfway, brushing his mouth across hers, tasting a bit of

the grape juice on her lips. Deepening the kiss, he tasted a bit

more, swirling his tongue against hers, falling right back into that

deep well of warm, sensual pleasure he'd been missing since

Wednesday morning.

Rikki shifted a little in the lounge chair, but he didn't realize

she'd reached around to untie her bikini top until it fell into her

lap. He sat back,watching the sunwarm her breasts. She appeared

almost pagan, despite the fragile paleness of her skin. "You're

doing more thanwaving hello to the sun out your windowtoday."

"Yes, I am." She smiled, obviously also remembering their

conversation in her office.

_Leslie Kelly 133_

He reached for the bottle of sunscreen they'd both applied

earlier. "You'd better let me help you put more lotion on. I

couldn't even imagine you getting sunburned here."

"Thank you _so _much for thinking about my well-being," she

replied sweetly, a hint of wickedness in her eyes.

Zane squeezed a small handful of the milky white fluid into

one palm, then rubbed both hands together to spread it between

them. Inhaling the tropical scents of citrus and coconut, he

reached out and touched her breast, smoothing the protective

coating over her sensitive skin. Rikki's head dropped back, her

mouth opening on a deep, sensual sigh. "Mmm."

Her nipples grew taut as he lotioned her, and he allowed

himself a fewpleasurable strokes, tweaking the puckered skin that

demanded his attention. "Zane," she whimpered, "please, more."

"I'm not quite finished." He kept on stroking lightly, not

giving her the more urgent caress he knew she was dying for.

The woman really needed to learn patience.

Reaching again for the bottle, he started over again on her

other breast. But this time, once he was sure he'd protected every

luscious inch, he bent low, close enough to scrape his tongue

across the rock-hard tip.

She jerked. "Yes!"

Still cupping her, caressing her, loving the complete absence

of friction the lotion provided, Zane gently sucked her into his

mouth. Soft at first, he increased the tension when she arched

up against him, demanding it.

"Oh, please," she groaned, twining her hands in his hair as

he went back and forth, kissing, laving, suckling her hard enough

to draw a series of shocked gasps from her mouth.

Knowing the arms of the chaise lounge would soon get in the

way, Zane let Rikki go long enough to toss a large, colorful

beach towel down onto the deck. Zane rose to his feet, reached

for her hand and tugged her up, too.

_134 Slow Hands_

Rather than leading her to the towel right away, however, he

began kissing his way down her body, much as he had the other

night, until he was on his knees in front of her. This time,

however, when he reached the fabric of her string bikini, he did

not veer away. Catching the elastic in his fingers, he pushed it

down, nibbling his way all the way down to the juncture of her

thighs, rubbing his lips against the soft thatch between them.

Her hands fell to his shoulders. She made no effort to pull

away. They'd come much too far for those kinds of inhibitions.

"Taste me, please," she said.

Taste her? He intended to devour her.

He was smiling in pure hunger as he spied the glistening

pearl of flesh half-concealed by her soft curls. Still smiling, he

dipped close, flicked his tongue out. Her nails clenched into his

muscles and she groaned.

Reaching for her calf, Zane gently encircled it with his hand,

lifting her foot onto the seat of the lounge she'd just vacated.

Opening her for his most intimate dining pleasure.

Rikki groaned, the sound low and desperate. "I think the

ground would be shaking even if we were on dry land."

Holding her by the hips to keep her steady, Zane tilted her

closer, right where he wanted her, and explored her pretty, slick

folds with his mouth. As he'd expected, she nearly buckled at

the sensation, but he kept her steady, completely in control. And

he didn't relent, just kept pleasuring her until he heard her cry

out her climax a few moments later.

"Beautiful," he murmured against her thigh, watching as she

shook from the power of it.

He let go of her hips, pulled her down and onto her back on

the deck. She stretched again, easing this way and that, her body

warm and pliant and, he would suspect, still pulsing from her

powerful orgasm.

Usually he liked to go very, very, slow, but right now, Zane

_Leslie Kelly 135_

wanted to share the moment, to be part of her deep pleasure. So

he pushed his trunks down, not even kicking them all the way

off. Using his teeth to tear open one of the condoms he'd brought

up from the galley, he sheathed himself and moved between

Rikki's legs. Her eyes remained closed, her mouth open, her

entire body flush with satisfaction.

And Zane joined right in. Pushing into her. Watching the way

her hungry smile widened, and her brown eyes opened to stare

up at him as his cock filled her, stretched her, mated with her.

He drove home. Hard. She thrust up to meet him. Hard.

As he'd expected, the afternoon sun sent blazing heat into his

back, but it couldn't compare to the heat of Rikki's steamy,

clenched core. She squeezed him from within, holding on so

tightly he felt wrapped in a fist of the softest, smoothest velvet.

A cooling breeze washed over them, providing relief. Soft

waves lapped against the side of the boat, making it rock beneath

them. Gently. Up and down. Setting a natural rhythm to which

they both began a slow, sultry dance.

Rikki's breaths grew choppy, her cheeks flushed with color.

Between deep, lazy thrusts, she said, "You know, I really do like

the way you pay attention."

He didn't follow at first, then suddenly remembered the terms

of their deal. His demand that he be the one to call the shots—

to _pay attention _as he saw fit.

"Good. Because I am an attentive guy."

Wanting to see her beautiful face above him, her brown hair

haloed by sunshine, he wrapped an arm around her and scooped

her against him. He rolled onto his back, settling her onto his

groin without ever losing their deep connection.

"Mmm," she said, lifting her hands to her hair, scooping it

back, holding it off her neck to cool her skin. _Beautiful._

She remained still, sitting straight up on him and not moving,

visibly savoring the new position. Zane reached for her breasts,

_136 Slow Hands_

stroking and playing with her nipples while Rikki began to ride

him. With restraint he didn't know she possessed, she pulled up

until he almost slid out of her entirely. He actually felt the cool

breeze blowing on his wet cock, before she slid back down to

wrap him in her warmth once again.

"You've learned the value of slowing down," he murmured,

unable to prevent a smile as he watched her.

Rikki nodded. "Mmm, hmm. I'm a fast learner."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Maybe she'd be open to learning a few more things from him.

Things that had nothing to do with moments like this—moments

of pure sensual bliss. Perhaps she'd someday allow him to teach

her a little more about relationships, romance, the human heart.

Maybe even the existence of love.

He had thirty days in which to try. And so far, Zane thought

he was off to a pretty good start


	10. Chapter 9

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

. _9_

OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS, Rikki remembered what it was

like to be a woman. A sensual—sexual—woman. Rather than a

bank drone, a dutiful daughter, a supportive sister.

She and Zane had spent the entire weekend together, staying

out on the boat Saturday night rather than coming in to shore.

Whatever his _obligations _were, he'd at least had Saturday and

Sunday free. They'd sailed and laughed, talked and made exquisite

love. But on Monday, he'd disappeared again, saying he'd

be busy for the next two days—another forty-eight hour commitment—

and promised to see her in a few days.

She'd forced herself not to think about where he was, who

he was with and what he was doing. Zane had given his word

that he'd have no sexual contact with anyone else, but that

didn't mean he wasn't _seeing _anyone else. Professionally. Or

personally.

Lord, she hadn't even asked him if he was involved in any

kind of relationship. She'd focused solely on his, um, _job._

_Let it go_, she'd reminded herself many times. No way would

he have agreed to the terms if he was seriously involved with

another woman. Besides, there was nothing she could do,

anyway. She simply had to trust him.

Honestly, she did. The man had taken her check, which had

both relieved her and broken her heart a little. Mainly, though,

it had been a relief, because it had sealed their bargain. While

_138 Slow Hands_

trusting any man was not easy for her, especially after Oliver,

Rikki _did _have confidence in her business judgment.

He'd stick to his end of the deal. She knew it.

And _that's _how she managed to get through the forty-eight

hours without driving herself crazy wondering if he was on the

arm of some rich old hag like Bitsy Wellington, explaining that

he couldn't provide any more _intimate _services.

Fortunately, all those worries had disappeared on Wednesday

night. He'd shown up at her door with a new-release DVD, a big

bag filled with popcorn, Lemonheads, Gummi Bears and other

movie-theater type candy, and informed her they were having a

movie date.

Since she'd answered the door in nothing but an emeraldgreen

teddy, however, he'd decided the date could wait.

They'd made love right on the living room floor and they'd

been wild, rolling helplessly across the carpet, absolutely ravenous

for one another. Rikki had, as usual, been surprised by

both his patience and his stamina, not sure where the man got

his strength. Eventually they'd ended up right in front of the

windows overlooking the twinkling lights of the city.

He'd taken her from behind, the two of them kneeling in

front of all that glass and all those stars, an enormous orange

moon hanging like a paper cutout right above them.

Talk about wanting to howl at the night like a wild, untamed

creature. When she saw the handprints all over the windows

the next day, she'd decided untamed had been a very good description.

There'd been two full nights of laughter and whispered conversation

and sexual bliss, then another two nights of secretive

silence. Until now. It was Sunday again, and she was driving to

meet him at a local restaurant.

He'd offered to come over. But they'd both known from the

other night that if she allowed that, they wouldn't eat anything

_Leslie Kelly 139_

until morning. Well, except each other, that is. And frankly,

while that thought was incredibly appealing, she was starving

for real food and her kitchen was, as usual, pretty empty.

Besides, they had all night. For now, she just wanted to enjoy

his company, in public, as if they were any other couple.

_You're not_.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered to the skeptical voice in her head

as she entered the restaurant promptly at seven o'clock, her gaze

traveling the crowded establishment in search of his familiar

broad shoulders and short, thick hair.

"What?"

She hadn't even realized he'd been standing in the vestibule

until he'd stepped beside her and touched her arm.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself." Despite the crowd, he bent and brushed a gentle

kiss across her lips. When it ended, instead of pulling away, he

brushed his nose against hers in a sweet, tender gesture—an

Eskimo kiss, she remembered from her childhood, having dim

memories of sharing them with her mother. She melted a little

on the spot.

"Shall we get a table?"

"Absolutely! I'm famished."

"That mean you're not having a salad?"

Rikki elbowed him in the ribs as they approached the hostess

station to request a table. Before they reached it, however,

Zane's cell phone rang. "I'll turn it off," he muttered, "I'm not

on call tonight…."

Rikkiput her hand up to stop him from saying anything further.

She did not want to know about his "on call" time. "It's okay."

"Uh-oh," he said, reading the number. "I probably should

take this."

Rikki smiled at the hostess, requesting a table for two while

Zane stepped to the corner to take the call. Trying not to listen,

_140 Slow Hands_

she couldn't help overhearing a few snippets of the conversation.

Words like "sweetie" and "honey, it'll be okay, you know I'm

here for you," making her ears perk up as if she were James

Bond's partner in spying.

The words were bad enough. The soft, gentle tone, however,

truly bothered her. She did not like to think of him using _that_

voice with any other woman. And she had no doubt it _was_

another woman he was talking to.

"You know, why don't you give that table to someone else?"

she told the hostess, her back stiffening. She'd lost her appetite.

"That's a good idea," Zane said, snapping his phone closed and

giving her a grateful look as he returned to her side.

Huh. She wondered how grateful he'd be if she took the phone

from his fingers and pitched it into the restaurant's tropical fish tank.

"We've got to go."

"We?" Her brow arching, she added, "Are you sure you don't

need to go alone? I'm quite capable of seeing myself home—I

have my own car."

He shook his head, taking her arm to lead her outside. "No,

I'm not letting you get away, I've been looking forward to this

date since I left your place Friday morning." He opened the door

for her, waited while she exited, and followed her out into the

night. "It shouldn't take long." Frowning, he added, "I hope."

"Look, Zane, I know this is just business and everything, but

if you have to go deal with one of your other…clients…I'd

really prefer not to go along for the ride. I'm not the type of

woman who'll wait in the car while you dash inside and explain

to Mrs. Robinson that you can't be at her beck and call tonight."

He froze, his jaw dropping open. Which was when she

realized she'd made a big mistake. "I thought…I mean…"

"You honestly thought I was going to take you along while I

went to meet a _client._"

"You were so _tender _on the phone, I assumed…"

_Leslie Kelly 141_

"It was my baby sister, Jenny. She just had a big fight with

her boyfriend. He drove away and stranded her down at the

Navy Pier. She was bawling her eyes out and asked me to come

get her and take her back to her dorm."

Zane shook his head, disappointment so clear in his expression

she could almost feel it washing over her. "I'm _so _sorry. I can be

such a bitch." She swallowed and stepped toward her own car.

"Why don't I go home and you can call me later…if youwant to."

Grabbing her arm, Zane stopped her, stepping in close and

cupping her face in his hand. He pressed a quick, hard kiss on her

lips. "Shut up. Just drive me 's not big enough, and

you, at least, have that little 'll take care of Jenny, then

go back to your place." His eyes narrowed and he kissed her again,

licking roughly at her tongue, then muttering against her lips,

"And I'll pay you back for your lack of faith in me."

So relieved that she hadn't ruined their evening completely,

she smiled tremulously. They got in the car, Rikki behind the

wheel, as she started the engine and backed out of the parking

lot. Before they'd even reached the street, her good mood had

returned. "How are you going to pay me back?"

"I'm going to torture you," he replied, his tone bored, his attention

out the window.

"Torture?"

He finally looked over, his eyes shimmering in the light

thrown off the car's dashboard. "I know it drives you crazy when

I go slow. Well, tonight, I'm going so slow you'll think I'm

moving backward."

Her thighs quivered. "Monster."

"Yeah. That's me." He dropped a hand on her thigh. "Drive

quick, okay? She sounded pretty upset."

"You said this is the youngest one? How old is she?"

"Twenty. There's an eight-year gap between her and me. My

older sisters and I call her the accident."

_142 Slow Hands_

Hmm…that made him twenty-eight. Just her age.

"Funny that she called you, rather than one of your sisters,"

she mused. Whenever Tabitha had a breakup, she always showed

up at Rikki's place with a bottle of tequila and a thousand

dollars' worth of cosmetics from Sephora, for the "girl's night"

she needed to get over it.

"She's embarrassed. My sisters can't stand the guy she's been

dating and they'll say 'I told you so.'And my parents would hold

it against him, if and when they do get back together. Which,

knowing Jenny, will probably be soon."

Her father was exactly the same way. The one time they'd run

into Oliver after he'd done Rikki so wrong, her dad had called

him a scum-sucking, lowlife, bootlicking coward. For starters.

Rikki had stopped his tirade. Eventually.

"But you like the guy?"

"Hell, no. He's a lazy punk and I can't stand him."

"Then why did she call you?"

"Because _she _doesn't know I can't stand him. I know how to

keep my mouth shut and mind my own business."

"Unlike your sisters—women—is that what you mean?" she

asked, not really offended but enjoying putting him on the spot.

Not that he ever stayed there for long.

"Your words. Not mine. Speaking of which—I don't have to

ask you to keep the details of our, uh, arrangement, private, do

I? My family doesn't know about…"

"Enough said." She wasn't bothered by the question. Of

course, he had to be sure. Besides, he didn't sound as though he

was truly worried she'd out him as a hooker to his kid sister. "I'm

just your dinner date." The words provided her a good opening

to do a little sneaky prying, and she wasn't about to let it go.

"They won't think it's strange, uh, you being with me? I mean,

you don't have anyone they usually see you with?"

He saw right through her. As usual. Laughing softly and

_Leslie Kelly 143_

tucking her hair behind one ear, he murmured, "I haven't been

involved with anyone for a long time."

Why it so relieved her that he hadn't had a girlfriend, she

didn't want to think about.

"And Rikki? You're more than just my dinner date," he

whispered. "Much more."

Keeping her eyes on the road, Rikki couldn't help smiling

a tiny bit, if only on the inside.

Because Zane was already ever-so-much-more to her, too.

"WHY ARE GUYS such assholes?"

"Like I've always said, babe. A.M.A.S.," Zane replied. "All

Men Are Scum."

"You're not!" Jenny scooted up from the tiny backseat, her

elbows on her knees as she leaned between him and Rikki.

"He's not, right?"

"Definitely not," Rikki replied, entering the conversation for

the first time.

Not that she could have gotten a word in before now. They'd

picked up Jenny ten minutes ago. From the moment she'd gotten

into the car, she'd been crying and blowing her nose into a Taco

Bell napkin she dug out of her purse. Then babbling and raging,

explaining the fight—something about a girl named Liz and a

party and a kiss—and generally acting like the high-strung

twenty-year-old she was.

Rikki had remained quiet, driving, making occasional commiserating

noises and frowning in sympathy with the slightly

hysterical young woman she'd never laid eyes on before. She was

calm and reasonable, totally in control, as always, but warm, too.

Well, almost always in control. He'd definitely made her lose

it on a few occasions. And he could hardly wait to do so again.

"Who are you, anyway?" Jenny asked, finally distracted from

her tale of woe. "Is this your car? It's wicked sweet. Zane, is she

_144 Slow Hands_

your girlfriend? How long have you been together?" She sighed

deeply, the melodrama oozing out. "Oh, God, I interrupted your

date, didn't I? Why is he _such _an asshole?"

She threw herself back into her seat.

"This is Rikki Chadwick…I introduced you when you got in,

remember?" Zane asked, unable to hide his amusement.

Jenny just sniffed. "Sorry. Wasn't listening."

"No kidding."

"It's all right," Rikki said. "I'm glad to meet you, but I'm

very sorry it's under these circumstances."

"Men suck."

"They certainly do." Rikki cast him a quick, apologetic

glance and clarified. "Some of them."

"Not Zane, I know," said his baby sister. "He's a doll. I think

it's having sisters. Inmyopinion, everywoman should end up with

a man who had sisters. They drain all the assholeness out of him

while he's growing up and make him learn to treat awoman right."

Rikki chuckled. "There's no denying your brother is a perfect

gentleman." Pursing her lips, she added, "And you know,

come to think of it, _my _ex was an only child."

"You see?" Jenny exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.

"So is Toby."

Toby being he of the great assholeness.

But Zane was more interested in hearing about Rikki's ex.

This was the first time she'd mentioned him, though he'd

strongly suspected the guy's actions left some major damage.

Had he been a lover? Fiancé? He couldn't even contemplate

the idea that someone else might have actually put a wedding

ring on her beautiful finger and then let her get away.

Jenny was fine, already showing more interest in the car than

in the boyfriend who would be texting her and asking for forgiveness

within a few hours, he was quite sure. He wanted to

know more about Rikki. "So, tell me more about this ex."

_Leslie Kelly 145_

"Oh-ho, haven't gotten that far in the relationship, huh? Just

sex talk, no ex-talk?"

"It's been a long time since I've threatened your life," Zane

said, not even turning around to glare at his sister. His words were

menacing enough. "Now be quiet or I'll call Heather and Blair

and sic them on you tonight."

Jenny stiffened, definitely fearing the combined threat of

their two older sisters, complete busybodies, both of them.

"Sorry. Go ahead, Rikki."

"Go ahead with what?" she asked, obviously distracted by the

sibling bickering. With only one sister—and a snooty, pretentious,

pushy one at that, judging by what he'd heard about her—

Zane doubted Rikki had much experience with the playfully

cutthroat world of sibling disputes.

"The ex. What was he, a cheat?" Jenny asked.

Zane didn't scold her, because that was exactly the question

he wanted to ask, but hadn't dared to.

Rikki sighed softly. "Oh, yes. Oliver was most definitely a

cheat."

Jenny gasped. "Oh, God, did he cheat on you with a _dude?_"

That startled a shocked laugh out of their driver. "No, why

on earth would you ask that?"

"Well, come on, I mean, _Oliver? _Only a parent who's just

_begging _for a gay son would come up with that name!"

Zane snorted, quickly hiding his laughter when Rikki swept

a sidelong glance his way. Her tiny frown told him she'd seen

his amusement.

"Well, as far as I know, he confined his cheating to snow

bunnies and cocktail waitresses."

"But you're so hot. Why would any guy do that?"

Rikki shifted in her seat, as always, not accepting that she

was a beautiful, desirable woman. "He liked tall, rail-thin,

leggy blondes."

_146 Slow Hands_

"Then it sounds to me like he should have been with an albino

greyhound," Zane snapped, completely despising the unknown

Oliver. "Because he's only fit to be with his own kind…dogs."

"I totally agree. You are so much better than that," Jenny said,

whether out of loyalty to Rikki because she was with Zane, or

because she liked her—or her car—or simply out of a go-girlall-

men-suck attitude.

Maybe all of the above.

"I think it was a combination of immaturity, selfishness and

greed," Rikki admitted, her voice low, almost as if she was

speaking to herself. "I am sure he liked my connections and my

family money more than me."

"She's rich?" Jenny piped in.

"Shut up, Jen."

His sister shut up.

"But hewas a spoiled rich kid who took what hewanted when

he wanted it. While he very briefly thought he wanted me, he obviously

changed his mind andmoved on…without clueing me in."

"How'd you find out?"

Zane hadn't asked, Jenny had. Again he did not tell her to shut

up, because he wanted to know the answer. He couldn't possibly

have asked—he was too busy keeping his jaw clamped shut and

his body tightly pressed against the passenger seat, so damned

furious at the lousy prick who'd hurt Rikki he couldn't even

speak.

Rikki glanced into the rearview mirror, seeming to meet his

sister's eyes. "He went on a ski trip and I decided to 'surprise'

him by coming up to join him. He was surprised all right."

"Eww! Did you walk in when they were…"

"Jenny," Zane snapped, "that's a little too personal."

"Sorry. Man, I'm ready to run out of hope altogether. If it can

happen to you, it can totally happen to anyone."

The Rikki he'd met a few weeks ago—the hard, brittle

_Leslie Kelly 147_

one—probably would have nodded in agreement. The cool

woman he'd walked with to the park, who'd slammed the very

idea of lasting love as being a fantasy might have warned his

baby sister about being cautious, staying slightly separate from

anyone to avoid getting hurt.

Instead, she surprised him. "You know, looking back, it was

just as well. He definitely wasn't the man for me."

Ah, progress. At least she was conceding there might exist

such a creature—a man for her.

"And I know it wasn't my fault and that not every man would

behave that way. It was his own weakness of character."

"Well, duh!"

"So I've finally come to the point where I can let it go and

forget about him." Then, grunting she added, "Which is fine,

except for the fact that he is still in my social circle, and I do see

him once in a while."

"Is he going to be at the wedding?" Zane asked, already relishing

the prospect.

"God, I should hope not. My father would lose his mind. I

think he was more furious about what Oliver did than I was. And

if Dad didn't clean the floor with him, Tabitha would eviscerate

him with a salad fork." Glancing again at Jenny in the mirror,

she explained, "My older sister is getting married on Saturday

and Zane is escorting me."

"You an escort to a rich wedding, huh?" Jenny snorted, opening

her mouth to say something else.

Fearing it might be something along the lines of, "What are you

going to wear, your paramedic uniform?" he quickly interrupted.

"Maybe Rikki will return the favor and come with me to Blair's."

"Ugh. Don't remind me. Have you seen the bridesmaid dresses

she finally decided on?" Sticking her index finger into her mouth

and making retching noises, the twenty-year-old made her opinion

of them clear. Then she asked Rikki, "Are you a bridesmaid?"

_148 Slow Hands_

"Yes."

"Did your sister pick out the monkey-butt-ugliest dresses in

the store? Talk about hideous—ruffled and frilly baby's-asspeach

things. They look more like something I would have worn

to my third birthday party."

Soft, lyrical laughter spilled from Rikki's mouth. "No,

actually the dress I'm wearing is beautiful…for someone built

like Tabby."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm going to have to duct tape myself to fit into it

_and _to hold it up. I haven't worn a strapless, backless dress since

I reached puberty."

"That sister of yours…" Zane muttered.

"Hey, it's her wedding," Rikki said with a shrug. "I honestly

don't care, and it is a very pretty dress. I'll just try not to breathe.

And I definitely won't be bending over. It's far too revealing for

someone with my, um, figure."

Hmm…he could hardly wait to see it. What might be demure

on one of those stick-thin, leggy blondes her ex had so desired

would be downright sinful on a woman like Rikki. How any

man could have preferred anyone else when he'd had this woman

in his life, he simply had no idea.

Men who cheated pissed him off as a matter of principle. But

one who'd cheated on _her? _Well, this sonofabitch Oliver was just

lucky he wasn't coming to the wedding.

"I bet you'll look totally wicked," Jenny said. "While I'm

going to look like Dora the Explorer in her party dress."

"Totally wicked," Zane murmured, already smiling at the

thought.

"No comments, you."

In the backseat, Jenny stopped talking, and began to avidly

stare down at the cell phone in her hand. The texting must have

commenced. Knowing his sister was fully occupied now, Zane

_Leslie Kelly 149_

still kept his voice low. "I'll be happy to keep an eye on you,

make sure everything stays in place."

"Mmm, hmm," Rikki said, sotto voce, watching his sister

in the backseat.

"She wouldn't notice if a tidal wave came off the lake unless

it filled the car and took that stupid phone out of her hands."

"Then I guess you'd better tell me where I'm going," Rikki

murmured, nodding toward the sign as they entered the campus

of the university Jenny attended. "Which one is her dorm?"

Zane pointed to a nearby building, and by the time they'd

parked outside it, Jenny had a big grin on her face. Whatever

Toby-the-asshole had said in his text messages had obviously

mollified her. She'd forgiven him.

Until next week.

They got out to say goodbye to his little sister, who gave both

of them enthusiastic bear hugs for coming to her rescue. Rikki,

who didn't seem the type to appreciate being hugged by a

complete stranger, still had a smile on her face as they got back

in the car to leave.

"I like her."

"She liked you, too."

"I don't ever remember being that young and energetic."

"I disagree. You seemed like an energetic powerhouse the

other night. And that day on the boat. And the night of the

baseball game…"

Rikki, who hadn't seemed to be the type to even know what

teasing was a few weeks ago, gave it right back to him. "Well, I

fear my batteries might have run completely dry. It's going to

take something pretty spectacular to charge them again."

He was up for the job. "Good. Then let's head back to your

place and I'll do everything I can to…spark a charge."

"Are you saying you want to plug something in?"

Zane barked a quick laugh. "You do know you're teasing me,

_150 Slow Hands_

right? That this is called banter. You're flirting with me and

you're not talking in that snooty voice you used to use. And thank

God you're not or calling me _porcine _for fantasizing about you

in that bridesmaid dress."

She didn't respond at first, merely appearing to think about

his words. He wondered if he should have said anything at all.

The changes coming over Rikki were visible to him—maybe

they hadn't been to her.

Maybe she hadn't yet acknowledged, even in her own mind,

that she was opening up to him. Trusting him. Letting down her

guard and being the woman he'd sensed was there, beneath the

surface, all along.

From her warmth toward his sister, her men-suck commiseration,

her bridesmaid talk, her openness about her bad breakup,

hell, even accepting a hug without the slightest wince, Rikki

was as unlike the woman he'd spoken with in her office that day

as he was unlike…well, the gigolo she'd taken him for.

_Maybe it's time to end this_. It was definitely something to

consider.

"I suppose I should thank you," she said softly. "I've been

pretty cold and hard since the…incident…with Oliver." Nibbling

lightly on her bottom lip, she added, "I wasn't always the ice

queen."

Zane reached over and touched her cheek, lightly, briefly.

"You were _never _really the ice queen."

Rikki nodded, still pensive, serious. Maybe even thinking

some of the same things he'd been thinking. If she continued to

think that way, she might very well be ready to hear what it was

he had to tell her.

Soon. Hopefully very soon.

"You know…" he said, changing the subject to the other one

that was foremost on his mind. "Thinking of you in that bridesmaid

dress you were talking about has suddenly got me anxious

_Leslie Kelly 151_

for a preview. Let's go back to your place so you can model it

for me." He made no attempt to disguise his wolfish tone or true,

lustful intentions.

"What about dinner?"

Zane merely leaned back in the seat, stretching his long legs

out as far as he could in the small car. "I suddenly prefer to dine

in. Do you have anything…appetizing at your place?"

"Are we bantering again?"

"I think we are. Bantering, flirting, exchanging innuendo."

"Well then." She appeared to think about it, tapping the tip

of her finger on her cheek. "Hmm. I believe there are still a few

Lemonheads and some popcorn…"

"Or?"

"Or you _could _just dine on me."

Exactly the kind of dinner he had in mind.

"But first, we've got to clear something up, mister. You

haven't cashed that check I gave you." She sounded accusing.

"You peeking in my wallet again?"

"I do manage a bank, you know."

Oh. Right.

"You'd better not even be _thinking _of trying to tear it up or

hand it back to me at the end of our thirty days."

"Rikki, come on, I don't need your money."

"Tough," she snapped. "We had a deal, so you cash it. Do

whatever you want with the money, invest it, pay Jenny's tuition,

give it to charity for all I care. But fair's fair." Her lips curved

up the tiniest bit. "I'm not a welsher."

Ah, now he understood the amusement. He'd used the exact

terms when seeking her out at the bank.

"You'll do it?"

He should have expected this, he really should have. If Rikki

was genuinely changing, letting her heart open up, she had to be

scared to death. The first thing she'd do is try to get things back

_152 Slow Hands_

under control, protect herself, just in case. Personally, he believed

they'd gone too far for her to do it—that genie was out of the

bottle. She could not stop smiling at him, exchanging warm

looks and sexy conversations any more than he could.

But she could remind them both of why they'd gotten into

this. And that was exactly what she was doing.

"Zane?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered.

"You promise?"

"All right, yes, I promise," he agreed, knowing that no, he

could not tell her the truth yet. Not while she still felt the need

to make sure she had an easy way out at the end of their month

together, just in case.

Besides, she'd certainly made no comments about them

sticking together beyond that. She hadn't verbally expressed

any genuine feelings for him at all. Which meant she might not

quite be ready to continue what they were doing without the

stupid "arrangement" giving her the protection something deep

in her psyche required her to have.

It appeared that while it might be good for the soul, confession

might _not _yet be good for his relationship with the woman

he was falling in love with.

So his mouthwould stay shut. Even if his heartwas wide-open.


	11. Chapter 10

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the author and page number**_

_10_

THIS LAST WEEK before Tabitha's wedding was shaping up to be

a crazy one and by Tuesday afternoon, Rikki was already completely

exhausted. Not only because she'd had two long,

glorious—and sleepless—nights in Zane's arms, but also because

of the typical prewedding hysteria every family experienced.

Tabby was a mess. The bride had been worrying herself into

a frenzy about the weather, the caterer, the vows, the rings.

She'd second-guessed the brand of champagne, argued with the

wedding planner and was stewing over her honeymoon trousseau.

Not to mention, she was starving herself to fit into her

size two dress.

Rikki had worn a size two once. When she _was _two.

Still, she didn't envy her sister one bit right now, and wouldn't

change places with her for theworld. Except, perhaps for one thing.

She did wonder what it might be like to be loved so deeply

by a man.

Her sister's fiancé must love Tabby madly. It was the only explanation

for why he'd put up with the antics of someone so

totally unlike himself. Why he'd be drawn to his complete

opposite. Love like that sounded _so _nice.

Who was she kidding? Being loved like that by a wonderful

man sounded utterly amazing. Especially if the man was Zane.

_Stupid_. She had no business thinking that way, but the fantasies

kept creeping up on her at the oddest times. Especially after

_154 Slow Hands_

she gave in and finally allowed herself to admit—after their conversation

in the car Sunday night—that she _had _changed, as

he'd pointed out. He simply didn't realize how _much _she'd

changed.

She'd fallen in love with him. Against all her own cautionary

advice and better judgment, her walls had dropped and her heart

had filled.

While a big part of her wanted to tell him, another part—the

sensible part—had known she couldn't. Not until their deal was

finished, their thirty days up. After that, if Zane stayed, it would

be for personal reasons only. She couldn't use her feelings to

pressure him in any way.

And that was why she'd demanded that he cash that stupid

check. They had to keep their arrangement, if only to make sure

that whatever happened afterward, happened because he felt as

deeply for her as she did for him.

"In love," she whispered under her breath Tuesday afternoon,

after daydreaming her way through an executive meeting led by

her father.

The ice queen had completely melted for a gigolo. Wouldn't

the tabloids adore that.

"What did you say?" her father asked, obviously hearing her

words, since only the two of them remained. The meeting had

wrapped up a few minutes ago.

"Oh, nothing," she said. "Just thinking about the wedding."

"Of course, who isn't?"

Their father had been preening in his role of father of the

bride, while also going over every detail with his keen businessman's

eye…as well as inviting anyone he felt like asking. He

had, in fact, extended two verbal invitations this very day.

"You know, Tabby's going to kill you. If those two California

businessmen come this weekend, you're going to throw off

her seating plans."

_Leslie Kelly 155_

Her father frowned, thought about it, then winked. "I'll

blame Deborah."

Their father was no dummy. He had absolutely no illusions

about how his oldest daughter felt about his young wife. Yet he

still managed to keep his sense of humor about it.

Tabby was right. He really did seem happy. So maybe he did

genuinely love the woman.

Good grief, she must be turning into a complete mush-bag believing

in all this true love involving _her _family.

"Do you really think our girl's going to be happy with that

stick-in-the-mud Bradley?" her father asked, putting words to a

question Rikki had considered a few times herself.

"She seems to be. She says he calms her."

Her father shrugged, not appearing convinced. "Calms her…

or bores her?" Then he frowned. "I have heard rumors that he's

a very rigid, strict man."

Knowing her sister, he would not stay that way for long. "It'll

be fine. Besides, you know Tabby. She has no problem calling

something off if it's not going to work out. And she's determined

to go through with it."

He sighed, obviously remembering the money he'd paid for

past engagements…and one lavish wedding. "So far." The way

he glanced at the documents in his hands did not disguise his

overly innocent tone when he asked, "And what about you,

sweetheart? Is that handsome, dark-haired fellow escorting

you?"

"Dad…"

"You can't blame me for being curious. He seems like a good

sort."

"He is a good sort," she admitted, hearing a completely unfamiliar

soft, mushy tone in her own voice. "In fact, he'swonderful."

Her father dropped his papers, reached for her and gave

Rikki a quick hug, kissing her temple. "I can't tell you how

_156 Slow Hands_

thrilled I am to hear you say that." His eyes were suspiciously

moist when he pulled away. "I want you to be happy, Rikki.

And I'm _thrilled _to see you giving someone else a chance after

what that vile bastard Oliver did."

One way to get her father riled up and send his blood pressure

through the roof was to talk about her ex. "Forget him Dad, he's

_nothing_. And yes, Zane is escorting me this weekend." Though

she didn't want to get her father's hopes up about Rikki actually

being involved in a real relationship—given Zane's profession—

she did like seeing the shadow of worry disappear from his eyes.

"I think you'll like him."

"I think I already do," he murmured, touching her cheek with

sweet tenderness. "He brought that beautiful smile back to your

face and the warm sparkle in your eyes. I've missed seeing them

in the past eighteen months." He stared at her for a moment, as

if memorizing her features, though he'd seen her nearly every

day for her entire twenty-eight years. "You are so lovely, my

dear," he mumbled, that moisture appearing in his eyes again.

Her father was behaving in a most un-Jason-Chadwick-like

fashion today. Loving he may be—maudlin and sentimental he

was not. This upcoming wedding must have really gotten him

thinking, and worrying, about Rikki's single state.

"Love you, Dad."

"I love you, too." And as quickly as his odd mood had come

over him, he shook it off and pointed an index finger at her.

"Now, don't forget this evening. You know I'm counting on you

to keep the peace."

Her usual role in the family.

"I won't forget," she murmured, wishing she _could._

Her father had insisted on one last "family" dinner before

things got too crazy. Which meant she'd be seeing her stepmother,

the only person who did _not _seem to be going insane with

wedding preparations, or to even be involved with them at all.

_Leslie Kelly 157_

The woman had been avoiding her—and Tabitha, too—as if

they both carried the Ebola virus. Rikki suspected she was too

embarrassed to face her stepdaughters, having to know that they

were both fully aware of why she'd been at that auction.

Tonight, though, Deborah could no longer escape. Neither,

unfortunately, could Rikki or her sister.

Absolutely the only good thing about the evening, in Rikki's

opinion, was that she would have the chance to warn her stepmother

about who her escort would be, both at the rehearsal

dinner and the wedding.

She didn't merely want to avoid any embarrassing moments

that her father might pick up on. She also didn't want Zane subjected

to any whispered come-ons. Frankly, the way she was

feeling, if her stepmother made a move on the man Rikki had

come to consider hers, she'd rip the woman's hair out by its

platinum blond roots.

So much for the ice queen.

HAVING TO PICK UP some extra shifts to make up for the time off

he'd need to escort Rikki both to tonight's rehearsal dinner and

tomorrow afternoon's wedding, Zane found himself missing her

like crazy after only the few days they'd spent apart. It was as if

she was a drug to which he'd become completely addicted. And

honestly, he'd never felt like that about anyone before in his life.

"You're losing it, man," he muttered that morning as he filled

out some paperwork for a patient he and his partner had just

brought in to the hospital. "Absolutely losing it."

And damn, didn't it feel fine. As long as, sooner or later,

Rikki "lost it," too.

Seventy-two hours. That was far too long. He hadn't seen

her since Tuesday morning, when she'd taken him back to his

truck. It had been parked outside the same restaurant where

they'd _tried _to dine Sunday night—before Jenny's interrup_158_

_Slow Hands_

tion. They'd rescheduled for Monday, and had actually

managed to complete an entire date. A _great _one, filled with

laughter and good food, and more of that flirtatious banter

Rikki seemed to want to try out—and was getting very good

at. She was so adorably sexy to watch as she let her inhibitions

fall away, one by one.

Speaking of sexy, that bridesmaid dress…Whew!While it had

definitely lived up to all his heated expectations, he'd found

himself dreading her actually wearing it to the wedding. Hewasn't

sure he was ready for the way other men were going to look at

her, whether she believed that or not. The last thing he wanted to

do was go off on a jealous rant in the middle of the fancy yacht

club reception because some rich dickhead high on one-too-many

glasses of champagne looked at her the wrong way.

_She can take care of herself_, he forced himself to acknowledge,

remembering the drunk at the ball game.

"You finished?" the admitting nurse asked, interrupting his

heated musings. Jeez, it wasn't often he got distracted from his

job, especially with a case as serious as this one.

Maybe it was _because _this case was such a serious one. And

because of the way the victim's wife had looked when she'd

arrived here a few minutes ago.

Utterly and completely terrified.

Rikki Chadwick might not have seen a lot of true love in her

lifetime, but oh, God, did it exist. Zane saw it every day—saw

the anguish and the heartbreak that came with the thought of losing

someone who was so deeply loved that their partner couldn't

imagine life going on without them. Like the wife from this

morning.

"Yeah, I'm done," he muttered. "Hope the guy makes it."

The patient he and his partner, Raoul, had brought in was a

shooting victim, injured in an apparent home invasion. He'd

been found unconscious on the floor of his own house. A

_Leslie Kelly 159_

neighbor had heard the shots and called 911. Zane and Raoul had

arrived right behind the police and Zane's hands had been the first

on the wounded man's bloody chest.

"I think he will."

Good. The guy was middle-aged, had a nice home and a loving

wife who'd apparently just left for work when it had happened.

He deserved a hell of a lot better than to die for opening his front

door to the wrong stranger.

Though they needed to get back to the station, he and Raoul

stuck around, both to keep an eye on the man's condition and

because they'd already been told they'd probably have to give a

statement to the police. This suspect was apparently one nasty

character and the cops wanted him bad.

Raoul had gone to secure the truck and to radio the station

that they were going to stay for a few minutes. Grabbing himself

a cup of coffee from the lounge, Zane hung around the E.R. information

desk, watching the clock, hoping the team of detectives

showed up soon. There were EMTs back at the station, but

he was the only actual paramedic on today.

Finally, a stocky, solid woman with short, iron-gray hair and

a no-nonsense attitude approached him. "You Wallace?"

"I am."

"Detective Harriet Stiles." She flashed a badge. "My partner

spotted yours out in the truck and he's taking his statement."

She began asking questions, routine stuff. Zane only wished

he could actually be of some help. He spoke clearly and concisely,

telling what little he knew, since he hadn't seen the assailant,

just the victim lying on the floor.

When he finished, Detective Stiles nodded and snapped her

notebook closed.

"All done?" a man's voice asked the officer.

Zane glanced up and saw that a dark-haired guy, solidly built,

a few inches shorter than him, had joined them.

_160 Slow Hands_

"Looks like it. You?"

"Uh-huh."

"Mr. Wallace, this is my partner, Detective Santori," the first

officer told Zane.

"Good to meet you. Huh…Santori. That name is familiar."

The other man laughed softly. "There are a _lot _of us."

Zane suddenly remembered how he knew the name. The

woman from the charity—the one who'd tried to help him track

down Rikki. She'd been named Santori.

"I met a woman—Nicole Santori, maybe? It was at a charity

auction a few weeks ago."

The other man stiffened, his jaw jutting out the tiniest bit. "Are

you talking about my _wife, _Noelle? She founded the Give A Kid

A Christmas program."

Suddenly realizing why the other man had tensed—since the

wife had, he recalled, been very pretty—Zane put both hands up,

in a universal no-harm, no-foul gesture. "Hey, no offense. I was

only asking because I wanted to try to get a message to her.

There was a major printing mix-up that night with the program."

Santori visibly relaxed. "She won't be happy to hear that."

"Look, it turned out okay—in fact, great—on my end."

"Spoken like a man in love," said Detective Stiles with a low

snort. She didn't exactly look like the romantic type.

Hell, he probably was wearing some kind of sappy, guy-inlove

grin. Frankly, though, Zane didn't give a crap. He _was _a

sappy guy-in-love.

"Like I said, I'm fine. But I don't know how the bachelor who

was mistaken for me—and got my bio—is feeling about it.

Whoever 'won' him was expecting a blue collar rescue worker.

And, uh, I really _don't _think that's who she got."

"I see," Santori said. His brown eyes twinkled. Noting the

laugh lines on the detective's face, Zane sensed he was pretty laidback,

when he wasn't going all alpha in claiming his wife.

_Leslie Kelly 161_

"Noelle told me about a few of the more high-maintenance guys

who showed up that night."

Zane had no idea whether the real gigolo was high-maintenance

or not. He only knew he probably wasn't the kind of man who'd

offer a woman baseball and beer. So whoever he'd ended up with

probably had quite a surprise on her hands.

"Anyway, I just wanted her to have a heads-up. We were

numbers nineteen and twenty, I think."

"Got it. Thanks for letting me know, I'll be sure to pass it

along." He extended his hand, and Zane shook it. "Good to meet

you…Wallace, was it?"

Zane nodded.

"Well, I know my wife was thrilled at the money earned that

night. It went a long way toward helping meet her annual goal."

He grinned. "From the sound of it, you guys really went through

the wringer."

Groaning, Zane confirmed that. "You have no idea. I now

know what a brownie at a Weight Watchers meeting feels like."

Both the officers were grinning as they murmured their goodbyes

and turned to leave, though Zane knew their smiles wouldn't

remain during the very long day ahead of them.

Before they'd gotten more than a few steps away, Zane remembered

something. Something big. "Wait!" Reaching into his

back pocket, he retrieved his wallet, digging out the folded piece

of paper he'd stuck in there the day he and Rikki had gone

sailing.

She'd _said _she didn't care what he did with the money….

"I have another contribution to make," he said, not hesitating

for one second in doing what he knew was the right thing. He

had, after all, promised her. "Can you get it to your wife?"

"Of course."

Borrowing a pen, Zane unfolded the check, looking at it for

the very first time. He immediately realized what a good thing

_162 Slow Hands_

it was that he hadn't lost the thing, because Rikki had filled out

the amount, but not the name. As if she wasn't sure whether he

used a different one for "business" or was trying to hide the

income. Great. The woman either thought he was a tax dodger

or that he'd incorporated himself in the sex trade.

Then again, considering she thought he was a gigolo, he

guessed he shouldn't be surprised.

Writing the name of the charity and grinning when he pictured

Noelle Santori's face, he passed the check over. The detective

took it and prepared to carelessly stuff it in his pocket.

"Uh…you mightwant to put that in yourwallet or something."

"Oh?" Santori finally glanced at the front of the thing, noted

the number of zeroes, and muttered, "Holy shit."

"It's genuine."

"I sure hope so. What kind of rat-brained idiot would try to

pass off a bad check for needy kids to a cop?"

"I have been accused of being many things, but never a ratbrained

idiot."

The partner, who'd peeked over Santori's shoulder at the

check herself, whistled. "Nice."

Very nice. Very worthwhile. And now that the check had been

lifted from his pocket, Zane felt _very _lighthearted—as though

he'd lost thirty pounds.

Or thirty thousand.

THE WEDDING REHEARSAL started at seven, with the dinner taking

place right afterward at a nice restaurant in one of the hotels owned

by the groom's family. It was now five. They should be leaving

any minute to get there, given Friday rush hour traffic in the city.

Instead, the minute Zane walked out of the elevator and into

her place, Rikki jumped on him. Literally. She flew into his

arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and began pressing

wild, frantic kisses on his mouth.

_Leslie Kelly 163_

"I've missed you so much," she whispered when she paused

to take a breath—and let him take one.

"Ditto." Holding her around the waist with one arm, cupping

her bottom with the other hand, he strode straight down the hall

toward her bedroom. He kissed her jaw, the side of her neck. "We

might be late."

"Tabby's never been on time for a thing in her life," Rikki

replied, letting her silky, short bathrobe slip off her shoulders and

down her arms. She could have gotten dressed for their evening,

as Zane—in a dark blue suit and crisp white dress shirt and tie—

had. Instead, as she'd begun pulling on the lingerie she'd bought

to wear beneath her new cocktail dress, she'd only been able to

picture Zane taking it off her. And so, she hadn't bothered to

finish dressing. "She was an hour late to her first wedding."

Reaching her bedroom, Zane tossed her onto the middle of her

bed, watching with glittering, heated avarice as the robe fell

completely down, revealing her black lace bra, black garter belt

and sheer stockings.

"Then I guess Tabby won't mind if we're just a few minutes

late to her rehearsal."

Rikki lay back on the bed, one leg straight down, the other

bent at the knee in invitation. With one hand resting on her

stomach, the other brushing through long strands of her loose

hair, she gave him a wicked glance that left no doubt about what

she wanted. "_Just _a few minutes?"

"After three and a half days without you, I want at least that

long inside you," Zane muttered as he took his jacket off and

tossed it onto a chair. "Can we skip tonight altogether?"

She shook her head. "I wish. But I'm the maid of honor,

remember?"

"So we…get a little satisfaction now, then come back here

tonight and I'll do you until we have to leave tomorrow for

the wedding."

_164 Slow Hands_

She shivered at the roughness in his tone, which spoke of his

ravenous need. "Deal."

Zane loosened the tie next, taking a whole lot longer than such

a simple chore should take.

"Uh, _FYI? _You're going way too slow."

"I said a _little _satisfaction. Not an infinitesimal amount."

Just her luck. Even when desperate, the man had agonizing

patience.

"Hurry up," she ordered, writhing on the bed.

"Not a chance. We're not so pressed for time that I'll rush

through something I've been fantasizing about for days."

Fantasizing about her when they weren't together? That was

nice to hear. But it didn't exactly do anything about the mad heat

spiraling through her entire body. "Haven't you ever heard of a

quickie?"

"Yeah. And I want one. Maybe tomorrow, at the reception."

His eyebrows wagged. "Want to meet me in the coatroom?"

Oh, he was wicked. So wicked. Just the thought of it sent a

thousand more hot tendrils of electricity straight between her thighs.

"That's incredibly tempting," she admitted, meaning it. "But

knowing how hard it's going to be to get myself secure in my

dress, I don't know that I'll be up for taking it off in the middle

of the big event."

He reached for the top button of his dress shirt, unfastening

it with slow deliberation before moving on, watching her watch

him. "I'd be there to help you get…put back together."

After he sent her flying apart, no doubt.

"Unless you're going to pack a crowbar in your tux to squeeze

everything back in, and strong tape to hold it all in place, I think

that'll be impossible." As it was, she'd had to buy some ridiculous

sticky contraptions that were supposed to give her some

support. The thought of gluing plastic film to her breasts seemed

utterly ridiculous, and she already dreaded it.

_Leslie Kelly 165_

The alternative, however, was worse. No way was she going

braless.

"Maybe I don't want you wearing that dress around other

guys." A frown tugged that handsome brow down and he'd

stopped unbuttoning.

Jealous? Was that even possible? A little thrill of excitement

at the thought of it made her heart roll. "They'll _see _it. You'll be

the only one _not _seeing it when I take it off."

"I suppose that'll have to do." He stared at her legs. The hose.

The garter belt. The tiny black panties. "Getting back to our

quickie. Maybe you wouldn't have to worry about your dress.

Wear what you have on now." Smiling with pure heat, he added,

"_Without _the panties. I'll lift your gown and take you right up

against the wall of the closet, daring you not to scream."

She groaned, her legs clenching, ready to scream right now.

"I'd lose that dare."

He seemed oblivious to her agony, still taking his own sweet

time, arousing her word after word, look after look, not having

even touched her since he dropped her onto the bed. But at least

he resumed working on those double-damned buttons.

Picturing the interlude he'd proposed, she murmured, "Can

you imagine trying to walk out of that coat closet into the reception

and act normally afterward?"

"You're going to be doing it tonight at the dinner."

Confused, Rikki merely stared.

A look of such tenderness appeared on Zane's face, it took her

breath away to think it was directed at her. "Oh, honey, you have

no idea how you look after we've made love. You wear your happiness

on your face for hours afterward."

_Good Lord. Such sweet words_. Had any man ever touched

her with just a whisper the way this one had?

Easy to answer. Absolutely not.

"Tonight at the rehearsal you're going to have that soft smile

_166 Slow Hands_

on your face and that glow in your eyes. Your skin will be flushed

and you'll be a little slow and dreamy in your movements, like

your body is there, but every other part of you—heart, mind and

soul—is right…back…here."

Rikki closed her eyes, not wanting him to see what she suspected

lurked in them. The sheen of tears—and a whole lot of

genuine emotion. Maybe even the love that she'd finally acknowledged,

if only to herself, that she felt for the man.

Finally feeling capable of speaking—and looking at him—

she opened them again. "Zane, I am so glad I met you."

"Me, too," he admitted.

Their stares met, exchanging unspoken emotion, and in

that moment, Rikki knew their relationship had just moved

up to something else. She wasn't sure what. Just something.

And, to her complete surprise, she wasn't utterly terrified by

that realization.

But there was no time to dwell on it now. Certainly not

enough time for them to drag it out and talk about it.

Pursing her lips, Rikki focused her attention on his stillclothed

body. "Ahem. Back to our time limits? If you don't get

out of those clothes, I'm going to rip them off you."

"Then I'd have nothing to wear tonight," he said with a teasing

shrug. "So I guess you'll have to be patient."

How could the man drive her so completely mad, yet still

remain so in control, just now getting around to pulling his dress

shirt off and tossing it aside? Here she was laid out like a _Penthouse_

playmate, with the figure and the fantasy lingerie to back

it up, and the guy hadn't even unfastened his belt.

"Is there _anything _I can do to make you go faster?"

He shook his head.

"Maybe I should start without you."

"Maybe you should."

That was a challenge. And maybe even a sexy plea.

_Leslie Kelly 167_

Rikki accepted, sliding her hand up, letting her fingertips

ease a slow, lazy path across her constrained breasts. She rubbed

one nipple, already hard and sensitive against the black lace.

Then she tugged one bra strap down, releasing her own sensitive

mound for his perusal and her own touch.

He growled. And maybe the belt slid through the hoops of his

trousers a teensy bit faster.

"Mmm," she murmured, sliding two fingers against her

nipple, toying with it, plucking lightly.

Wanting to see more of that desperate want on his expression,

she lowered the other bra strap, then twisted the bra around and

unfastened it completely.

"You take my breath away every time I look at you," he whispered,

devouring her with that gaze.

But the man still had his damn pants on.

"You know what I've always wanted to try, Zane?" she asked,

toying with both peaks now.

"I'm afraid to ask."

Knowing how fascinated he was by her breasts, he had

reason to be.

She sat up, scooted to the edge of the bed and let her stockingclad

legs part to wrap around his. The roughness of his trousers

against the silkiness of the lingerie ratcheted up the level of

sensation. Rough and soft, sweet and spicy.

Rikki reached for Zane's waistband, unbuttoned it, then

slowly lowered his zipper. His rock-hard erection arched against

her hand, but he didn't stop her. Instead, he watched with hooded

eyes as if wondering what she was up to.

She'd pleasured him with her mouth many times and knew

he loved it. She also knew it was what he expected.

It wasn't what he was going to get.

Tugging his briefs down and pushing them, with the trousers,

over Zane's lean hips and butt, Rikki breathed lightly on that silky

_168 Slow Hands_

skin. But rather than taste him, she wiggled closer. Close enough

for her nipples to brush against the fine hairs on his stomach, to

feel the ragged pulse as his blood raged through his veins.

"Good God," he said with a groan, finally understanding

her intention.

Reaching around to clench his taut butt, Rikki hugged him

closer, smothering his erection between her full breasts, making

a nice, soft, warm channel for him. He was helpless to resist, his

muscles flexing in her hands, his pelvis tilting, his staff gliding

against her body as if he was buried inside her.

"Rikki," he groaned. He twined his fingers in her hair and

she looked up at him, wetting her lips, groaning in pleasure as

he continued his slow, lazy thrusts.

"I never imagined how good this could feel," she whispered,

admitting she was trying something new.

That realization seemed to make him grow even more

engorged against her, and he threw his head back, the cords of

muscle standing out in his neck.

Rikki wasn't entirely sure how far this kind of thing could

go. Knowing Zane, he wasn't anywhere near coming. Nor was

she selfless enough to give up truly having him inside her. But

she did like it. A lot. She especially liked that he was visibly

losing a little of that infamous control, his hands clenched tightly

in her hair, his breath coming in short gasps.

"Gotta have the real thing, babe," he muttered, dropping his

hand to her shoulders and pushing her onto her back.

"I wish you would," she whispered, wanting him desperately.

But instead of pushing her farther back on the bed and climbing

on top of her, Zane remained standing between her parted

thighs. He grabbed a condom out of his pants pocket, opened it

and put it on between one breath and the next.

Unfastening her garters with a few easy flicks of his fingers,

_Leslie Kelly 169_

he reached for her panties and tugged them down, tossing them

out of his way, then sliding his fingers into her silky wet body.

He seemed to lose the last vestiges of control at finding her

already fully aroused and ready to take him. "I can't believe I'm

doing this without giving you more," he said, sounding on the

verge of desperation.

"Please, just _take _me," she groaned.

He didn't make her beg again. Zane lifted her legs completely

until her calves rested on his huge, bare shoulders. Holding her

hips and lifting her wet, tender core toward him, he plunged into

her with sudden, shocking force.

Rikki screamed at the power of it, so filled by him she didn't

think she'd ever feel whole again if he stopped making love to her.

He froze. "Rikki? You okay?"

One hand moved to her face, his thumb tracing her parted lips.

She bit it lightly, already rocking up toward him, greedily demanding

more as he began to pull away. "As long as you're not

stopping, I am just fine."

"Then I guess I'm not stopping."

He pulled out, thrust again, the firmness of the floor beneath

his feet giving him incredible control. Rikki was helpless to do

anything but love every stroke, to gasp when he went fast, to

whimper when he slowed down.

And finally, when he reached between their bodies and

caressed her swollen clit, to cry out her release moments before

he attained his.

Only then did he scoot her back and fall on top of her, both

of them falling into a sudden and unexpected sleep, still joined

in every single way.


	12. Chapter 11

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the**_.

_**author and page number**_

_11_

THEY WERE LATE. Quite a bit late, considering they'd fallen

asleep and hadn't awoken until twenty minutes before the rehearsal

start time. Zane had made up as much time as he could behind

the wheel of Rikki's car, but they still pulled into the church

parking lot not a minute before seven forty-five.

"Oh, damn," Rikki whispered, seeing all the cars. Then, in

a hopeful tone, she added, "I don't see Tabby's convertible.

Maybe she's not here yet."

Or maybe she'd ridden with her father, her fiancé, or any

other member of the bridal party, he thought. Not that he said so

aloud.

When they got inside and saw Rikki's very anxious father

rushing toward them with an expectant expression, he figured

Rikki had been right.

"Is Tabitha with you?"

"No, she's not." Rikki glanced toward the group of people

clustered at the front of the church, then back at the closed doors

through which they'd just come.

"Please tell me your sister isn't going to do this again."

"Again?" Zane whispered before remembering the previous

wedding, and the previous broken engagement. Or engagement_s_?

"Have you called her?" Rikki asked.

"I have. Everybody has."

_Leslie Kelly 171_

"Where's Bradley?"

"He was late, too," Jason Chadwick said. Finally noticing Zane's

presence, the man offered him a friendly smile, appearing

pleased to see Rikki on his arm, despite his anxiety. "He arrived

fifteen minutes ago and went right into the minister's office

without talking to anyone, not even his parents."

Sounded unusual. Zane's senses went on alert. But when he

heard the door behind them open, and saw the relieved look on

Jason Chadwick's face—and on Rikki's—he figured maybe his instincts

were slightly off. This time.

"I'm so sorry!" exclaimed the bride, a tall, slim blonde, who

looked about as much like Rikki as _he _resembled George of the

Jungle—the cartoon one. "There was an issue with the lobster

for tomorrow, then I had to deal with some problems with the

fountains and the fireworks."

Yeesh. Lobster, fountains and fireworks. Was this a wedding

or a state dinner?

"Bradley _is _here?" she asked, her tone hardening.

"Yes, of course," her father said, taking her arm to lead her

to the front of the church. "Don't worry, he was late, too."

"I know," the woman said.

Seeing the way Tabitha's spine stiffened, her shoulders

squared and her head came up, as if she was preparing herself

for an ordeal, he couldn't help wondering at the not-so-happy

bride's mood. It seemed to be more than simply annoyance.

Neither her father nor her sister, who both appeared relieved,

even noticed. Especially not when the bride swept toward the

front of the church, expecting—and getting—the small crowd

to part in front of her.

Yeah. About what he'd anticipated, from all Rikki had said.

Tabby seemed to be exactly the self-absorbed woman he'd

pictured. She'd probably kept everyone waiting intentionally,

just so she could make her grand entrance.

_172 Slow Hands_

Throughout the brief rehearsal, though, as he watched from

the back of the church, he began to wonder about those strained

undercurrents he couldn't help noticing. Not from everyone.

Rikki seemed fine—more than fine, in fact. She was beautiful,

still flushed from the love they'd made, as he'd known she would

be. She also appeared genuinely happy for her sister, and made

a stunning picture as she walked down the aisle.

God, the _images _that put in his head. Even if being here,

among all these rich people who probably made his annual salary

in a day, should have him running the other way.

Damnit, they couldwork it out. He loved suspected

she loved him, too. Thatwas all that mattered—itwas the _only _thing

that mattered. He just needed to keep reminding himself of it.

Though Zane's attention remained on the woman he'd escorted

here tonight, he definitely felt some vibes coming off the engaged

couple. Tabitha's laughter seemed almost too bright, her mood

more forced than joyous. And the groom had little or nothing to

say at all.

Yeah. There were definitely some undercurrents going on,

though maybe they were only visible to an outsider who didn't

have anything at stake in tomorrow's high-society event.

In the car, on the way to the dinner, he voiced his observations

to Rikki.

"What? Are you kidding? Tabitha's very happy."

That hadn't seemed like happiness to him. Then again, maybe

for Rikki's sister, the tight smile was typical, maybe her eyes

never sparkled, and the slight droop to her shoulders was a result

of fatigue from wedding mania.

But he doubted it.

"I can't believe I forgot to even introduce you," she said,

sounding genuinely distressed. "I'll rectify that as soon as we get

to the hotel."

The one owned by the groom's father. He remembered that

_Leslie Kelly 173_

tidbit. "Yeah, be sure to point out your stepmother, too, okay? I

want to make sure I'm ready to deal with her…just in case."

"I told you, I already warned her you'd be there."

She had, on the way to the church. Fortunately, it hadn't been

an issue then, because the stepmother of the bride hadn't bothered

to attend. Another tidbit that caused the bride's mouth to

tighten. Deborah was, however, per Rikki's father, definitely

going to be at dinner.

Yippee.

"She and I didn't have time to talk for more than a few minutes

the other night, but I put her on notice." Rikki's mouth

tightened. "There's no way she's going to say anything my dad

might overhear. That would put her in some serious trouble."

"I know," he mumbled, though his mind had already shifted

gears. He didn't give a rat's ass about Rikki's stepmother,

beyond the fact that he wouldn't want Jason Chadwick, whom he

already liked, hurt in any way.

Nor did he give a damn what anybody else—the stepmother,

or any of the spoiled, rich socialites who might show up at the

wedding tomorrow and remember him from the auction—

thought of him. They could consider him the biggest boy toy in

the world. It didn't matter. Only one person's opinion mattered

and she was sitting right beside him.

Rikki deserved the truth; he had known that for days. But it

had never been more clear to him than those moments before he'd

made love to her tonight, when their eyes had met and they'd

silently said the words that neither of them had dared to voice out

loud.

He loved her. There were no more caveats, no more qualifications,

no more maybes. He couldn't hide behind the protective,

halfhearted idea that he was "falling for her" or that he

_sensed _they could have something, or that he _thought _he could

love her. He did love her. Period.

_174 Slow Hands_

And her expression tonight, not to mention every moment

they'd shared in the past several days, told him she loved him,

too. Whether she loved him enough to get over the fact that he'd

let her believe a lie, he didn't know. All he knew was that,

feeling the way he did, he couldn't continue something he found

so morally dishonest. Even though they were almost to the hotel

and there was really no time, he found he could no longer

continue the charade. He couldn't walk into that dinner filled

with her family and friends under such dishonest terms.

"I need to talk to you, Rikki," he murmured, his eyes on the

road. "Before we get there, you have to know a few things."

She stiffened in her seat. He didn't have to see to know it, the

air in the car changed with her sudden tension. God love the

woman, she was so used to having the rug yanked out from

under her, she'd probably been steeling herself for something to

happen. Something bad.

He tried to keep things light at first. "I hope you have

money in your account, because your check is going to clear

your bank any day."

She let out her breath in an audible whoosh, which, considering

she'd just gone through a whole lot of money, said a lot

about how dark her expectations had been. "Okay." Laughing

lightly, she added, "It's certainly not going to bounce."

_As if. _"Be sure you hold on to the canceled check. You're

going to need it come tax time."

"Why?" Her hand moved to his leg. "Do they allow deductions

for, uh, _this, _now?"

He covered her fingers with his, lifting them to his mouth to

press a kiss there. "No. Because I signed it over to the Give A

Kid A Christmas people."

Her fingers tensed against his mouth, but she didn't pull away.

_Oh, sweet Rikki. _He knew what she was thinking, what she was

wondering. Should she be angry? Should she be hopeful?

_Leslie Kelly 175_

"I told you to do whatever you wanted with it." She didn't

sound cold, merely alert, knowing, already, that there was more.

"There's no way in hell I'd take money to be with you."

"Zane…"

He cut her off. "Let me clarify. There's no way I'd ever take

money to be with _any _woman. But especially not you."

At that, she did pull her hand away. They'd reached a stoplight

a few blocks from the hotel, and he chanced a glance at her.

Rikki was watching, her brow furrowed in confusion, her body

tense. "I'm not following you."

So he told her. "I'm not who you think I am. I don't know

how it happened, but somebody messed up at that auction. I'm

not bachelor nineteen, I'm number twenty."

"_What?"_

"I mean, I know I _was _nineteenth. But it wasn't my bio that

was printed beneath my picture in the program. It wasn't my life.

I'm not the man you went there that night to find." Ignoring the

fact that the light had turned green, he urged her to understand.

"It wasn't _me, _Rikki."

It took her a few seconds. When understanding did wash over

her, it did so instantaneously, and she gasped out loud, her jaw

falling open. "Oh, my God."

"Yeah."

"You're not…"

"No."

"I mistook you for…"

"Uh-huh."

"Is your name Zane Wallace?" She still sounded dazed.

"Of course. I am the man you've gotten to know since that

night. The only thing you don't know is that I'm a paramedic

for the city of Chicago…not an 'international playboy and

lover of women.'" _Or a hooker_.

Behind them, someone honked a horn, and he finally acknowl_176_

_Slow Hands_

edged that he'd been holding up traffic. He eased forward, spying

the tall, high-rise hotel just ahead of them. Rikki remained

silent, slumped back in her seat as he pulled into the parking

garage rather than heading for the valet stand.

They weren't finished. They'd been late to the rehearsal, they

could be late to dinner, as well.

Rikki waited until they were tucked into a small-car spot in

the basement garage before she came back at him with the accusation

he'd been expecting. "You lied to me."

"I know." He had no defense.

"You let me believe it. Let me make a fool of myself and

assume horrible things about you."

He reached for her, but she jerked away. "I _know_. But not from

the very beginning. Call me dense, but it wasn't until I went to

meet you at the boat, and you explained how you 'knew' everything

about me that I realized what the hell was going on."

Finally appearing more anguished than angry, she murmured,

"I'm so sorry. God, how horribly offensive. How demanding and

spoiled I must have sounded."

"Believe me, that first morning, those things you said…I was

about as mad as I've ever been in my life. Not to mention stunned

when you put forth your proposal that day on the boat. Right up

until you told me who you assumed I was, and why."

"And then? What happened then?" she asked, coming to the

most important part. The part where he'd have to make her

understand why he'd done it, _and _make her believe in his genuine

feelings now.

But before he could open his mouth to say a single word,

someone tapped on the passenger side window. Surprised, Zane

and Rikki both looked out and saw the bride herself, nibbling

the corner of her mouth, looking unsure and unhappy and utterly

unlike a woman about to marry the man of her dreams.

"Damn," he said. "We need to finish this conversation."

_Leslie Kelly 177_

"I know."

"Can you tell her we need a few more minutes?"

Rikki pushed the button and lowered her window. "Hi,

Tabby. Can you give us—"

"I need to talk to you."

Oh, boy. He sensed the bride was about to confess something.

She looked jittery and nervous, obviously upset, more on edge

than she'd been at the church.

"I am so sorry, Rikki, but there are two people upstairs who

you are _not _going to want to see." She glanced across the car,

saw Zane, gave him a brief smile, then focused on her sister

again. "I could wring my future father-in-law's neck. I've been

watching for your car so I could give you a heads-up. I'm really

glad you guys decided to park down here so we have a minute."

"What's wrong? Who is upstairs?"

"Bitsy."

"Ick."

"I know. She was having dinner in the restaurant. I guess she

knows Bradley's family. Anyway, Mr. Kent spotted her, and

invited her to join the party, which, of course, delighted Deborah."

Rikki glanced at Zane. "Bitsy is one of my stepmother's

cronies. She, uh, was there. _That _night."

"Oh, this just gets better and better," he mumbled.

"No, it gets worse," Tabitha snapped. "Because Bitsy wasn't

alone. She was with a date, the old skank. None of us realized

who it was until they'd sat down. I told Bradley to get rid of

them." She shook her head. "But he said Bitsy's family and his

had been friends for years and he wouldn't do something so

rude." She looked away. "Not even when I begged him to."

Zane sensed Tabby was hurt by her fiancé's refusal to back

her up—which made him actually start to like her, maybe a

little. At least for looking out for Rikki. The one thing he _didn't_

get yet was who this unwanted second person was.

_178 Slow Hands_

"I bet the witch did it on purpose," Tabitha muttered. "I can't

imagine she didn't know our rehearsal dinner was being held

here. And there is absolutely nothing she likes better than stirring

up trouble and sitting back to watch the explosion."

Rikki was obviously losing patience. "Did what? Who is she

with, Tabby? Would you just spit it out?"

"It's Oliver, Rikki. He and Bitsy are sitting right upstairs in

the restaurant, where everyone is waiting for you—both of you—

to join us."

AS ZANE LED HER toward the elevator a few minutes later, after

Tabitha's shocking announcement, Rikki felt him silently

offering support, even though he, himself, was tense and angry,

obviously ready for trouble and spoiling for a fight.

"I know you probably don't want me around right now," he

said, his tone gravelly, his jaw stiff. "But I'm not letting you walk

into the lion's den alone. We'll finish our conversation the minute

it's over."

He'd been keeping his voice low, to prevent Tabby, who

walked a few feet ahead of them, from overhearing.

"I do want you around, Zane." _So much it scares me_.

She admitted it to herself—but not yet to him. She couldn't

give him that much power, not yet, not until they had finished

their conversation. Though she suspected he'd assume she

wanted him there for support, tonight, that wasn't it.

She just wanted him in her life. Despite everything.

Maybe, even _because _of everything. Because Rikki could

not deny that, while mortified and angry, she was also more than

a little relieved that Zane _hadn't _stuck around for money. He had

never, in fact, taken money from any woman. And falling hard

for a great guy who saved people was a whole lot easier on her

heart than falling for one who had sex for cash.

Maybe he really could be the man of her dreams.

_Leslie Kelly 179_

_But he's also a man who lied. So don't get your hopes up._

"I can hardly wait to see this bastard."

"I don't give a damn about Oliver. He's nothing." Frowning,

she added, "And don't for one minute think you need to 'protect

me.'The man is notworth the breath itwould take to tell him off."

"We'll see," he muttered.

_Caveman. _The actwas still kind of cute, if entirely unnecessary.

Rikki could handle her ex. She could handle just about anything.

Except Zane walking away from her. Especially before she'd

found out everything she needed to know.

"You doing okay?"

He wasn't referring to Oliver and they both knew it.

"I still want an explanation," she whispered. "And we will

have that conversation. But I can't hate you when the whole thing

started because of my stupid family dramas and a complete misunderstanding."

It was true. She was humiliated that he'd let her believe she'd

"bought" him for a month. She definitely wanted to know why.

But how could she stay angry when he'd made her happier in

the past two weeks than she'd ever been in her life?

Seeing her sister reach the elevator and impatiently punch the

up button, Rikki put a hand on Zane's sleeve, stopping him, and

turned to look up at him. He watched her with tender eyes, a

loving expression. _Loving_.

He hadn't said it. He hadn't claimed that's what had driven

him to pose as—oh, God, she still couldn't believe the whole

nightmarish mix-up had happened—a gigolo. This wonderful,

funny, thoughtful, laid-back all-American family guy. What in

the hell had she been smoking to believe his supposed vocation

for one minute once she'd gotten to know him?

Once she'd started to love him.

"Thank you for telling me the truth. For not waiting until the

end of the thirty days."

_180 Slow Hands_

"I'm sorry I waited thirteen," he admitted. Zane lifted a hand

to her face. He touched her cheek, brushed his fingers through

her hair, even rubbed the side of his thumb along her eyebrow,

as if wanting to memorize it. "Thank you for not kicking me out

of your life. I…"

"Are you two going to stand there and make out or are you

coming?"

Rikki sighed heavily, saw her impatient sister peering at

them from inside the elevator, holding the door open with one

slim hand, and forced a smile. "Tonight," she told him as they

resumed walking. "Tonight, everything comes out. No more

secrets. Then we see what we're going to do about it."

For the first time since he'd started talking in the car, Zane

appeared relaxed. Maybe even hopeful. "That's a date."

Then they walked into the elevator. Tabby's frown said she

was still furious. Suspecting Tabby was hurt that Bradley hadn't

backed her up, on this, of all nights, Rikki acknowledged

exactly what they were facing upstairs.

Her sneaky, cheating, lying ex wasn't such a big deal, at least

not for her. But there were also a few women who thought the

man holding her arm was a hot body for sale.

"What a night," she said as the elevator rose.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"I don't suppose you'd forgive me if I bailed, huh?" she

asked Tabby.

To her surprise, her sister's expression wasn't immediately indignant.

Instead, Tabitha said, "I want you there. But I will understand

if you're not able to handle the drama. I'd bolt, in your shoes."

"Oh, she can handle it. We can both handle it," Zane said. He

dropped an arm across Rikki's shoulders and tugged her close,

asserting his claim and announcing his protection. He smiled

down at her. "We'd just rather not expend the energy dealing with

people who mean absolutely nothing to us."

_Leslie Kelly 181_

"I like him," Tabby said, smiling what looked like her first

real smile all evening.

Considering her sister had been her partner in crime, Rikki

figured she should know the truth, too. "By the way…Zane is not

who we—theworld, thewomen at that auction—thought hewas."

Her sister smirked, not believing it.

"Doesn't matter, babe," Zane said.

"Yes, it does." Rikki continued, her no-nonsense tone finally

getting her sister's attention. "There was a printing error in the

programs. I think the 'international playboy' was the man who

came last. Zane's a paramedic. A completely not-for-sale-at-anyprice

rescue worker." She smiled up at him, shocked at how

wonderful it felt to say the words out loud. To acknowledge the

truth, and indulge in the feelings it engendered.

"Oh, my God," Tabby said, "you're serious." Her blue eyes

grew wide as saucers. "You mean…you offered…he's not a…"

"No," Zane said. "Definitely not."

"I am _so _sorry." Then she gave him a once-over. "You could

be, though. You have to admit that."

Laughing, he brushed off the assessment. "Forget it, no

apology necessary. I suspect being mistaken for some male

hooker might have been the best thing that ever happened to me."

And to her.

She'd fallen in love with him when she'd thought he had a

string of rich women following him around. Knowing he was a

good-natured hero, well, just about every doubt she'd had about

him had disappeared from her mind.

_Just about_. There was, of course, still that tiny whisper in the

back of her brain, reminding her that she _knew _better than to

believe in true love or happily ever after. Despite the fact that,

right now at least, she felt surrounded by it.

Tabby loved her fiancé and he loved her. Dad loved his wife—

okay, she didn't quite fit in the example because, as far as Rikki

_182 Slow Hands_

was concerned, Deborah was a bitch who didn't deserve him. But

hopefully the woman had now been "scared straight" by her

close call at the auction.

She hoped so. Her father certainly seemed to love the woman.

He'd shown no signs that his attention was waning, even though

they'd been married for a year and had dated for four years

before that.

So maybe all the Chadwicks were changing. Every one of them.

Maybe even her.

They'd reached the lobby floor, and as Tabby led them out of

the elevator, Rikki saw into the arched opening of the private

room in the restaurant, and stiffened. Oliver was a rotten jerk to

be here, when he knew she'd be coming. And she could not even

fathom what her father must be feeling, knowing how utterly

furious he became at even the mention of her ex's name.

"It'll be fine," Zane reminded her in a whisper.

"Stay close."

"I won't let him bother you."

"I don't give a damn about him," she muttered. "But if Bitsy

Wellington puts a hand on you I might chop it off with a steak knife."

He threw his head back and laughed, all good humor and masculine

sexiness, as they entered the restaurant.

Everyone stopped talking. Every older person—her father,

her aunts, family friends—smiled, probably thinking Rikki

had found the right man at last. And every single woman in the

place almost certainly envied her.

She kept her arm wrapped tightly in his, silently staking her

claim.

They were welcomed with a round of introductions, then

quickly seated just before the dinner began. Breathing a sigh of

relief that things had gone smoothly so far, Rikki took note of

every detail, especially the layout of the room.

She strongly suspected there'd been some rearranging going

_Leslie Kelly 183_

on before they'd arrived. She and Zane were not seated with the

bridal party, but rather at a side table with a few family friends.

One of her cousins and her husband sat near Rikki's father, in

the direct line of sight of Bitsy and Oliver's table.

Oh, yes. Somebody had switched the name cards. Thank

goodness.

Unfortunately, there had been no way out for Tabby, who cast

such obvious glares at Oliver that it was amazing he hadn't had

the sense—not to mention courtesy—to get up and leave. Then

again, he certainly hadn't displayed either of those traits before

tonight…why start now?

"I wonder how Dad's holding up," she whispered, her gaze

continuing to return to the older man. He appeared fine on the

surface, smiling and exchanging small talk with the parents of

the groom. But Rikki had seen him cast more than a few hard

stares in her ex's direction, and every time he did, his face went

a shade redder.

"He doesn't look great," Zane replied. Then, his eyes narrowing,

he craned his neck to peer around the small sea of people

separating them from the head table. "The blonde, beside him,

is that your stepmother?"

"In the flesh." Did that sound _too _sour?

"She looks familiar."

"She tried to buy you, remember?"

"It's something else…. Oh, God, now I remember." Zane

leaned closer, obviously realizing his loud pronouncement had

caught the attention of a few people around them. "She's the one

who told me how to find you."

Rikki didn't understand.

"That night, after you left, I was trying to track you down. I

told you a woman told me your name and where you worked."

"_Deborah? _Are you kidding? I figured it was Tabby!"

"It was Deborah, definitely."

_184 Slow Hands_

How unexpected. Maybe pure embarrassment had led to the

older woman's actions. It was the only explanation Rikki could

come up with.

Glancing at the head table, she noted the stiff way her stepmother

sat at her father's side. Deborah lifted her glass, stared

into the ruby red-wine within it, then tossed it back, gesturing

to the waiter for another.

So unhappy. So very unhappy.

Much, she had to admit, as her sister looked. Tabby, a few

seats down, had a tight, forced smile on her lips. And while her

chair was close to Bradley's, they didn't touch. Not at all.

"What the hell is going on here?" she whispered.

"I don't know. I just know she told me how to find you, So

even though she tried to buy me like a side of beef, I'm ready to

kiss the woman."

Rikki put her hand on Zane's forearm, which rested on the

edge of the table. Smiling at one of the bridesmaids, who'd stared

over in curiosity from the head table, Rikki warned, under her

breath, "Do and you might be on the receiving end of that steak

knife."

"Jealousy? That's a good sign, right?"

Maybe it was.

"I can't wait to get out of here," he admitted, and she knew

he was not referring to the oddly tense celebration. "This is

almost over, right?"

The waiters had cleared away the dinner dishes and were

bringing dessert. The toasts and speeches had occurred before

they'd arrived, and the wedding party gifts had been opened. So

yes, thankfully, it was almost over. There hadn't been a single

opportunity for Oliver or Bitsy to speak to them. If Rikki had

her way, they'd be out of here before the two unwelcome guests

ever got the chance.

"Absolutely."

_Leslie Kelly 185_

For a few minutes, Rikki _thought _she'd have her way. As

dessert ended and everyone prepared to leave, an impromptu receiving

line formed at the exit. Tabby and her fiancé, as well as

both sets of parents, were thanking their guests. The milling crowd,

in no hurry to leave, lingered over each goodbye, blocking the door.

Groaning at the delay—for several reasons—Rikki remained

silent as they edged closer to escape. Finally, there were

only a few people between them and her father, who was at the

closest end of the line. "Almost there," she whispered.

But they didn't make it. "Not going to even say hello?"

_Oliver._

Rikki's back stiffened. She forced herself to pretend she

hadn't heard, focused only on her father's face…not to mention

the damned door.

Zane, however, did not. With his arm curved possessively

around her waist, he glanced over his shoulder at the other man.

"No. She's not. So shove off, will you?"

A grin tickling her lips, Rikki stepped closer, tempted to just

push past the well-wishers and leave. Tabby would understand.

But she wouldn't let this jerk force her out of her own sister's

party.

"Oh, come on, Rikki, this is childish."

Feeling Zane tense, she murmured, "Forget it, he's not worth

it."

Though as tall, her ex didn't even approach Zane's massive

build. Which just proved he was a moron for what he did next.

"Jesus, Rikki, you won't even face me? Are you going to

hide behind this hired stud all night?"

Gasping, she spun around, taking in both the sneer on Oliver's

handsome face…and the spiteful amusement on Bitsy Wellington's.

Obviously the woman—at least ten years Oliver's senior—

had gotten what she came for. Nasty drama.

"Babe, like you said, he's notworth it," Zane murmured, putting

_186 Slow Hands_

a hand on her shoulder. "Don't let him use me to get to you." He

raked a cold stare over Oliver's impeccably clad form. "I don't

give a shit what a lying, cheating little prick like this thinks."

Behind her, Rikki heard someone cough, or choke or laugh.

Dad. He'd heard. He'd edged closer. And he liked what Zane had

had to say. _Oh, God, what if he'd heard all of it?_

"You're right," she whispered quickly, tugging at Zane's arm.

They needed to get out of here. Now. "Let's go."

"You're the hired help, so keep your mouth shut," Oliver

said to Zane.

Oliver _must _have been drinking—he was flushed and there

was a definite slur in his voice. Not to mention that he seemed

to have lost his own sense of self-preservation if he didn't notice

that Zane, despite his casually insulting tone before, was holding

his temper in check by the merest sliver.

Still oblivious to the danger, Oliver added, "Come on, Rikki,

you could at least talk to me. I didn't know I'd screwed you up

so badly that you'd have to _pay _for it ever since. If I'd known

you were that much in love with me, I'd have tried harder to make

you forgive me."

Zane snapped. With an audible growl, he stepped away from

Rikki, grabbing Oliver by the front of his jacket. "Let's go.

Outside. Right now."

Bitsy shrieked, apparently realizing the vicious games she

played could occasionally turn around and bite her on the ass.

Others in the room froze and stared at the spectacle. Rikki

couldn't even find her vocal cords to stop what was about to

happen, partly because she was reeling from Oliver's offensive

accusation and partly because she was stunned at the raw

violence dripping off the sweetest, most tender man she knew.

"Get your hands off me. She pays you to screw her, not to

protect her."

"You sonofabitch…" Zane's arm flew back in preparation, but

_Leslie Kelly 187_

before he could land a punch, another man had pushed between

his fist and Oliver's face.

_Dad._

"Young man, you are the most rude, disgusting, foul little

rodent I've ever met," Jason Chadwick yelled, his face reddening,

spittle flying off his lips. "How dare you say such things about

my daughter?"

"Maybe because they're true? Just ask her. Ask if she's not

standing beside the male whore your own wife tried to nail not

three weeks ago."

_Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no!_

Everything had spun out of control so quickly, Rikki hadn't

even had time to process it. Her father's face was beet-red, his

breath coming in hoarse gasps. Zane dived for Oliver, sending

them both rolling to the floor, fists flying. Deborah came

running, screaming at Bitsy, who cowered away. Tabby came,

too, looking ready to kick Oliver's face in if Zane botched the

job. Fat chance that. The groom grabbed the bride, hissing at her

that she was embarrassing him, and his parents hurried over to

watch in offended horror.

But Rikki had eyes only for her father, _oh God_, her _father_.

"Dad?" she whispered, reaching for him, watching his breaths

grow choppier, his face grow redder.

Jason waved her off with a weak gesture, then his left arm fell

to his side, his fingers spasming as his shoulder slumped. He

lifted his other hand toward his chest, bending over double at the

waist, audibly struggling to breathe.

"Daddy!" she yelled, grabbing for him as he began to fall.

Those not paying attention to the brawl began to whisper in

worry as Rikki collapsed with her gray-haired father to the

floor. She knelt beside him, touching his flushed face…suddenly

realizing he was no longer gasping for breath.

No breath at all.

_188 Slow Hands_

"No…Tabby!"

Her sister spun around, finally realizing what had happened.

She threw off her fiancé's restraining hand and sprinted over.

Deborah, too, her eyes widened in shock, her mouth hanging

open in horror, knelt by her husband's side, oblivious to her

designer dress and their audience. "Somebody do something.

Call an ambulance, hurry," she wailed.

Rikki jerked her head up, tears coursing down her cheeks

as the image of her father's breathless, lifeless form imprinted

itself on her brain. Her eyes found Zane's, locked on him, not

needing to say a word.

He didn't hesitate. "Everyone get out of the way," he shouted,

shoving his way over and dropping to his knees.

"Don't touch him," Deborah said. "You'll make it worse."

Zane ignored her, ripping Rikki's father's shirt open, straight

down the front, leaning down to listen to his chest.

"Does he know what he's doing?"

"Yes," Rikki assured the other woman. "This is what he

does. His _real _job. He knows exactly what he's doing." Then she

looked at Zane, already tilting her father's head back, blowing

puffs of air into his mouth, then fisting his hands to administer

compressions to the older man's chest.

"Please…" she whispered, for his ears alone.

She couldn't form any more words, nor did she need to. Zane

understood, it went without saying.

There was absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to save her

father's life.

.


	13. Chapter 12

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the**_.

_**author and page number**_

_12_

KNOWING HOSPITAL procedures by rote, as well as being friendly

with one of the guys on the rescue crew, Zane knew he would be

able to keep Jason Chadwick's loved ones a lot more informed than

the average family. So there was no way he was leaving them.

No way he was leaving _her_.

Not when she so obviously needed him.

He drove all three Chadwick women to the hospital, in Mr.

Chadwick's car. He'd expected to drive Rikki and her stepmother—

but he'd been genuinely surprised by Tabby's decision

to ride with them, as well.

If she were his fiancée, he wouldn't have let her leave his side.

He'd have been holding her, reassuring her that everything would

be all right—exactly as he'd been doing for Rikki since the onduty

rescuers had arrived and taken over. Instead, from what he'd

heard, Tabby's fiancé had been anything but supportive. He had,

in fact, ordered her to calm down. The frowning man had actually

_scolded _her for her hysterical behavior toward the asshole who'd

caused all of this—Oliver—who she'd lunged at after the ambulance

crew had wheeled her father out of the restaurant.

Zane understood Tabitha's actions.

He did _not _understand the groom's reaction.

In the same position, Rikki might have retreated behind her

icy, self-protective wall, but Tabitha had not. She'd screamed at

her fiancé, shrieking that he was partially responsible for what

_190 Slow Hands_

had happened. She'd refused to ride with him, climbing in beside

a tearful Deborah and a white-lipped Rikki instead.

"He'll be all right, won't he? Please say he'll be all right,"

Deborah said from the backseat. She'd been repeating thosewords

in some variation since the moment Zane had pulled into traffic,

driving fast, ignoring the speed limit as much as he safely could.

"I'm sure he will," he replied, again. "He had constant CPR

from almost the second his heart stopped. The EMTs were able

to immediately defibrillate him back into a rhythm and he had

a decent pulse by the time they pulled out."

A thready one…not that he told them that. Because any pulse

was better than if Jason Chadwick hadn't responded to defib at all

and had to undergo CPR all the way to the hospital.

"Thank God," Deborah whispered.

"Yeah. But no thanks to _you_," Tabby snapped.

Zane sucked in a slow breath. He'd been expecting this—

waiting for the moment when it would start. Rikki had been

silent, her lips moving as if she were saying quiet prayers for her

father. Tabby's shock had worn off—now she was looking for

someone to blame. Make that someone _else _to blame, considering

she'd already told off Oliver and yelled at her husband-to-be.

Man, was the woman unlike her sister.

"Tabitha, please don't," Rikki murmured from the front

seat. Zane reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. He

didn't want her going through any more stress right now.

He seconded her plea. "It's not the time."

"When _is _the time? After she buries him under the ground and

puts on widow's black to go out and do her whoring around?"

"Shut up," Deborah said wearily. "I don't have to explain

myself to you. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, you mean, my father _didn't _grab his chest and have a

heart attack because he found out his loving wife of one year was

screwing around on him?"

_Leslie Kelly 191_

"It's not her fault," Rikki mumbled. "Dad can't stand the

sight of Oliver. He was working himself up into a frenzy without

a single word about Deborah."

Knowing Rikki, too, had to resent her stepmother, Zane

found himself surprised by the defense. Then again, Rikki

knew her sister better than anyone. Probably the only way to

calm Tabitha down was to try to deflate her righteous anger.

"Bullshit. He didn't keel over until after Oliver announced to

the entire room that Deborah was a cheat."

"He knows," Deborah murmured, still sounding tired—and

not interested in fighting.

"_What?" _Rikki turned in her seat.

"Not that I'm a cheat. I'm not." With indescribable pain in

her voice she added, "But he told me to feel free to become one."

She met Zane's stare in the rearview mirror. "I'm sorry, I understand

there was a mistake about your identity." Then she dropped

her gaze. "Besides, it's not like I would have gone through with

it. I saw the way you looked at him, Rikki."

"You told him where to find me," she murmured from the passenger

seat.

The woman shrugged. "What can I say? Hopeless romantic,

that's me." Then she spoiled it, adding, "I know your father's

been worried about you. You're all he _ever _talks about. Rikki

this, and Rikki that."

There was a hard note in her voice, though why she'd display

more anger toward the quiet, crying stepdaughter than to the

bitchy, screeching one, Zane couldn't possibly say.

"I hoped that if you found someone, got busy with some kind

of personal life, maybe itwould be one less thing he'd have to stress

over. I was hoping he'd stop the incessant _worrying _about you."

So her goal hadn't been exactly selfless.

"You are so full of it," Tabby snapped. "Don't believe a word

of it, Mad, this is all a pack of lies."

_192 Slow Hands_

"I'm _not _a liar. I am a forty-four-year-old woman who hasn't

had sex in months, whose husband encouraged her to go out and

get it somewhere else because he's no longer interested."

Whoa, this conversation he did _not _want to be party to. Not

that he had any way to escape from it.

Judging by Rikki's wide eyes and pale complexion, he

didn't think she wanted to hear it, either. Now that the words had

started, though, Deborah didn't seem in any hurry to shut her

mouth. "Do you know what it's like to try to keep up the happy

wife front when your father doesn't want to touch me?"

"You're crazy," Tabby said.

"It's true," Deborah told her. "The last time we had sex, he

called me by another woman's name. And because I had the foolish,

soft heartedness to be hurt by it, he's decided we shouldn't even

bother trying to have _that _kind of marriage."

"He loves you," Rikki whispered.

"No, _dear_, he doesn't." Now there was no mistaking the

dislike coming from the woman's mouth. Again, directed at

Rikki rather than Tabitha, who'd just called her a nutcase. "He

said he did, but _wanting _to be in love with someone is _not _the

same as loving them. Your father has nothing in his heart for me

beyond affection. He wants only companionship and an occasional

dance partner." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I thought

it would be enough, a friendly but loveless marriage." Sighing

deeply, she added, "Hell, maybe I thought I could change him,

even though no other woman has been able to."

Rikki's eyes, already wet from previously shed tears,

blinked rapidly. As if unaware she was doing it, she slid her

fingers from his, clenching her hands in her lap.

He took no offense. Sex talk about a parent was bad enough.

Hearing that parent might actually be so cold, loveless—well,

he didn't even want to think what it might be like. For Rikki

or for her sister.

_Leslie Kelly 193_

"So don't go judging me," Deborah continued. He glanced in

the rearview mirror, seeing that she was again talking to Tabitha.

"Not when you're about to do the same thing."

"I don't know you're talking about."

"Of course you do, dear. Please don't pretend I'm wrong. I

know what a couple pretending to be in love looks like. You and

Bradley don't love each other. At least, in my marriage, _one _of

us is in love."

"Tabby?" Rikki whispered, this time turning all the way

around in her seat. She looked as though she'd been hit—

again—for the dozenth time in an hour. The heartbreak he saw

in her eyes hit _him _again, too. "That's not true. You love him.

You do, don't you?"

Silence. When Zane cast a look back, he saw Tabitha staring

stonily at her sister, tears still on her cheeks—ones she had shed

for her father. Not any fresh ones for herself and the future she

_had _apparently chosen.

"You told me…"

"I thought I loved him," the older Chadwick sister replied. "I

wanted to. Mainly because I thought _he _loved _me _and I'd be crazy

not to feel the same way." She glanced out the window. "His

family business isn't doing well and he needs money. He told

me two days ago—said it wasn't _honorable _for him to marry me

without telling me about his financial situation."

Rikki didn't appear ready to concede the point. "Okay. He

should have come clean sooner, but he _did _tell you. So he does

love you, and wants you to be together on open, honest terms."

Her sister laughed softly. So, from the sound of it, did her

stepmother. As if the two of them knew something basic, something

undeniable, something Rikki hadn't yet figured out.

Goddamn it, if he had his way, she'd _never _figure it out. Or

at least never believe it. Not what he sensed they were trying

to tell her.

_194 Slow Hands_

"No, he was just afraid I'd find out after the wedding and

divorce him. He called me into a meeting with his parents where

they all informed me it would be a wonderful match, that they

found me eminently suitable, despite my, how did his mother call

it? My high-spiritedness." She sniffed and Zane didn't have to

look in the mirror again to see her tears.

"That witch," Rikki snapped. "And Bradley—he's a coward."

"Just a man," Deborah murmured. "Like any other man."

_Oh, by all means, ignore me. I'm not here_.

"I wasn't happy about the dishonesty."

"Can't imagine why not," the older woman murmured. "Who

wouldn't want a relationship based on lies?"

"Shut up," Tabby snarled.

Rikki interceded again. "Why didn't you end things? _Do_

you really love him?"

"No. But I conceded the point. I obviously can't trust my own

emotions. And a logical, well-thought-out marriage sounded

like a very good proposition to me. It still does."

"It's not," Deborah interjected.

"I'm talking to my _sister_."

Oh, how he hoped the claws didn't come out again.

Rikki shook her head. "Oh, no, Tabby you _can't. _Tell me

you're not going through with this."

Before she could answer, they reached the hospital. Every

woman in the car leaned forward, wearing expressions of fear

and anxiety. Zane _almost _pulled into the emergency entrance, by

habit, but remembered, at the last minute, to go to the front. "Go

on inside," he told them. "I'll park and meet you."

Rikki barely spared him a glance. She still appeared shellshocked,

stunned from the revelations from their short but informative

car ride.

He was worried about Jason Chadwick. Very worried. Right now,

however, he could throttle the man's wife and daughter for

_Leslie Kelly 195_

having aired their personal dramas—and man-hate—on the night

when he and Rikki had reached their own crisis point.

Before she got out of the car, he grabbed her hand, silently

urging her to be strong. To not give in to the pessimism that had

just been dumped on her head. "Rikki, I…"

"Thank you for driving us," she said, her eyes averted, her

voice calm. "I have to go."

He didn't like her mood. Not one bit. But there was nothing

he could do. Not now, not until she'd found out whether her

father was going to live or die.

After that, however, he intended to finish the conversation

they'd started before dinner. And to reverse any damage the two

other women in her family had caused.

THAT NIGHT WAS one of the longest of Rikki's life. She, Tabitha

and Deborah shared an uneasy truce in the hospital waiting

room, while her father went into surgery.

A double bypass. And they hadn't even realized there was a

single thing wrong with him, beyond occasional high blood

pressure.

Fortunately, Zane kept them informed about what was happening.

He served as a liaison between the medical staff and the

family. Not to mention a comforting presence for Rikki.

She didn't, however, allow herself to lean on him _too _much.

Because even while racked with worry for her father, she

couldn't stop replaying the conversation on the ride over here.

The awful revelations, the sadness, the bitterness.

All the happy thoughts she'd had twelve hours ago about

how the Chadwicks seemed to finally have come out from under

their unlucky-in-love-curse…. Look at them now. Tabby and her

father both freely admitting they weren't in love with the people

they'd pledged—or planned to pledge—to love until death. What

in heaven's name was _wrong _with her family?

_196 Slow Hands_

And was it also wrong with _her?_

Bradley was with them. He'd arrived shortly after they had.

Despite being a jackass, in her opinion, he'd at least offered

whatever comfort he could to Tabby. Not exactly warm, he hadn't

been a disapproving, judgmental cold fish, either.

Well, maybe a disapproving one, at least when he'd _first _been

introduced to Zane. But the judgmental glint had finally disappeared

from his eye.

"Hopefully the word will get out to everyone else, too," she

told Zane when they had a private moment. "I'll do my best to

make sure everyone knows Bitsy and Oliver were crazy. Considering

everyone saw you save my father's life, only a fool

would believe the story, anyway."

Which said a lot about Bradley, who _had _still believed it until

confronted with a truth he couldn't deny—Zane's friendly interaction

with the hospital staff, who knew him by name and by

reputation.

"Don't worry about it. I don't care."

"I do. My family has done enough damage to you." She heard

her own stiff, formal tone and half hated herself for it. But she

couldn't bring herself to ease up. Because while part of herwanted

desperately to just lean on him, fall into his arms and take

whatever comfort he could offer, emotionally, she couldn't risk

it.

He opened his mouth to argue, as if realizing she'd begun to

draw away from him, to retreat behind the barrier that had safely

guarded her heart for so long, but the door to the waiting room

was suddenly pushed in. Spying the surgeon, one of the best in

the city—who'd come to the hospital immediately when he'd

found out about her father—they all leaped to their feet.

"The procedure went very well. While I don't want to be premature,

I do think it's safe to say Mr. Chadwick is well on the road

to recovery."

_Leslie Kelly 197_

Those were all the words Rikki heard before slowly sinking

back to her seat. The others hung avidly on every instruction,

every detail the physician would provide. She didn't. She instead

sent up thankful prayer after thankful prayer, wondering if her

own personal guardian angel—the mother she'd always

imagined was watching over her—had been listening.

Hearing they could not take turns visiting for several hours,

they all decided to head home for what was left of the night. Only

an hour or two of darkness remained. Soon it would be the dawn

of Tabitha's long-awaited wedding day.

God, how life could change in an instant.

One of Deborah's friends—not Bitsy, the woman didn't have

a death wish—had shown up and offered to drive her. And

Tabitha left with her fiancé—obviously they had some decisions

to make about the wedding.

Frankly, Rikki hoped her sister canceled the thing for good,

rather than just postponing it until after their father recovered. But

she sensed Tabby wouldn't. One way or another, Tabby would

probably marry the man. Because, despite loathing Deborah

enough to ignore her advice, Tabby would go through it.

Her sister seemed ready to believe there was no such thing as

true love. And more, that maybe there was even something

wrong with her—something wrong with _all _of them—that made

them genuinely incapable of sustaining the emotion.

Rikki could have told her differently. Because she had absolutely

no doubt she was in love with Zane.

_For now_. That was the problem. She loved him _now_.

As for tomorrow? Well, despite her hopes and her dreams and

her wishes over the past few weeks, she had remembered the

truth—she didn't believe in tomorrows and happily ever afters

and love that lasted a lifetime.

Yes, she loved him right this minute. But next year? Five years

from now? Had anyone she'd _ever _known loved a lifetime?

_198 Slow Hands_

No. They hadn't. Maybe in Zane's world, not in hers. And the

man was just too good to have to live with that uncertainty.

Which left her with only one horrible, heartbreaking option.

"You okay?" he asked after a long, quiet drive back to her

building. The streets were deserted and the silence inside the car

had been even louder than the one out of it.

"I'm fine," she said once he'd parked in her reserved spot.

"Thank you for being there."

"I guess I should let you get upstairs and get some sleep. Want

me to come back and pick you up later this morning to take you

to the hospital?"

Asimple question. The one he _didn't _ask, however,was the one

they were both contemplating. _Did she want him to leave at all?_

"Zane, tell me why you agreed to let me 'hire' you for thirty

days. Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

He smiled gently, reaching over to brush her hair back from

her weary, tear-sore eyes. "Well, first, because you flat-out

said you wouldn't have anything to do with me if I didn't take

your check."

True.

"But also because I knew you'd never give me a chance to just

date you like a normal guy. You'd have to keep control…guard

on pretending you were that untouchable ice queen."

He sounded so tender, so loving, despite describing her with

a term she hadn't even thought of in reference to herself in days.

"I saw a chance to see if something real could happen between

us, and I took it, fully intending to tell you the truth as soon as

I thought you were ready to hear it."

"Today." She glanced at the dashboard clock. "Yesterday."

"Well, I don't know that I thought you were ready. But I did

decide I needed to get it out in the open. I couldn't go on with

it anymore, not once I was sure how I felt about you."

Rikki held her breath, wanting to stop him, afraid to hear

_Leslie Kelly 199_

the words. More afraid not to hear them—to never hear them

come out of this man's mouth at all.

She'd regret that until the day she died.

"I love you," he murmured, lightly touching her cheek, turning

her face to make sure she met his eye. "I love you, Rikki,

and I'm sorry I was dishonest."

She merely watched. She couldn't give the words back to him,

even though they were screaming a chorus in her brain.

"Tonight was bad and I know what you're thinking. That you

can't trust me, that maybe I lied to you for the same reasons

Bradley lied to Tabitha, and came clean for the same reasons,

too. But it isn't true. I _love _you."

There she stopped him. He was in no way like her sister's

fiancé. She put her hand up, covering his mouth with her fingertips.

"No. I don't think you're anything like him. I believe you."

She couldn't deny him the rest of what she owed him. "And I

forgive you. I know you didn't set out to make a fool of me, or

hurt me in any way."

He hesitated, still waiting, so sexy-yet-vulnerable, holding out

for the words she was not going to offer him.

They wouldn't come. Not now, not ever. Not when she had

the power to hurt him…tomorrow, next year. And not when she

knew she could be crushed into unrelenting sorrow for the remainder

of her life if he ever did the one thing that could most

hurt her, too—stop loving her.

"I forgive you, Zane. But I don't want to see you again."

.


	14. Chapter 13

_**A/N**_

_**Ok so this story douse not belong to me I was reading a book and thought it would be funny if it was a story about the h2o characters but throughout the story there is obviously no mention of mermaids like I said the story douse not belong to me and the characters don't either I decided to use Rikki and Zane for this story whenever you see leslie Kelly or slow hands and a number that's just the name of the**_.

_**author and page number**_

_13_

CONSIDERING SHE WAS BACK at the hospital by 10 a.m. on

Saturday, Rikki might as well have stayed there. If she hadn't

left, if she'd just curled up on the lumpy sofa to wait until visiting

hours, perhaps she could have delayed the inevitable moment

when she'd had to rip her own heart out. Because that's what

she'd done with every word she'd said to Zane in the predawn

hours.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, rubbing her hands over her

weary eyes as she watched the clock in the hospital waiting area.

Her father was allowed two brief visits per hour, starting at

eleven. She was the first of her family to arrive, and she could

have come in a little later. But what was the point? It wasn't as

if she'd slept, nor had she been doing anything at home that she

couldn't do here. Worrying. Crying. Regretting.

If her fears about her father hadn't kept her brain from

emptying and her eyes from closing in the cold darkness of her

room, her heartache over pushing Zane away would definitely

have done the trick, anyway.

He hadn't been pushed easily. He'd tried hard to dissuade her

from doing what they both knew she didn't really _want _to do.

But in the end, with tears streaming down her face as she

admitted she was too tired, too frightened and too confused to

think straight, he'd let it go. Let her have her way.

Let her shove him out of her life.

_Leslie Kelly 201_

Rikki was no fool. She knew he'd only left because he, too,

was worried about her father—and Rikki's own state of mind.

If not for that, she figured they'd still be down in the parking

garage below her building, arguing about whether or not he

really loved her—and would keep loving her.

And whether or not she could allow him to.

Funny, the one thing he hadn't even questioned had been _her_

feelings. He took her love for him as an utter certainty, though

the words had never come out of her mouth.

It didn't matter. There was no hiding how she felt. From him,

from either of them. "But that's today," she reminded herself as

she watched the clock ease closer to eleven.

Tomorrow, well, her heart could prove to be as fickle and arbitrary

as everyone else's in her family. And Zane deserved more

than that. So much more.

She loved him too much to ever want to hurt him that way.

Even if _she _hurt every minute of every day for the rest of her life.

"You're here!" a woman's voice said.

Half fearing it would be Deborah, Rikki couldn't help

sighing in relief when she saw Tabby's pinched, pale face.

Rising, she took her sister in her arms and hugged her close,

looking over her shoulder into the corridor beyond to make sure

she had come alone. "Are you all right?"

Tabby nodded. "Fine."

They drew apart. "You don't look fine."

"Well, hell, of course I'm not fine. Are you?"

Rikki shook her head. "But he's going to be all right."

"I know." Tabby reached into her designer purse and plucked

out a wad of tissues, offering one to Rikki taking one and then

wiping under her own eyes. "Can you imagine? Puffy eyes in

my wedding pictures?"

Rikki's jaw dropped open. "What are you talking about?"

Tabby lifted her chin, her lips quivering, then straightening

_202 Slow Hands_

into a calm line. "Bradley and his family want to proceed with

the wedding this afternoon."

"No, you can't do that!"

"They say it's exactly what Daddy would want."

They were probably correct. But that didn't make it right.

"They also pointed out, quite correctly, that everything is

paid for, food prepared, flowers in place. Dozens of relatives

have already come in from out of town. And that Dad's own

surgeon said he was going to be fine. He just won't be able to

walk me down the aisle…this time."

_This time. _Somehow, Rikki had the feeling Tabby was repeating

verbatim words someone else had said to her. And she

suddenly wanted to hit that someone for dumping such

pressure—and guilt—on her sister's slim shoulders.

"_Don't _marry him." The words had left Rikki's mouth

without her brain becoming involved in the decision. Her sister

hadn't asked for her advice—but she gave it anyway, unable to

stop herself. "You know he won't make you happy. You know

you don't love him."

"I lovedmy first husband, and I have loved men since. Maybe

marrying someone I don't love is exactly the right thing to do."

She ran a weary hand over her face, looking every bit as exhausted

as Rikki felt. "It's for the best, Mad. I'm just not cut

out for it, falling in love and staying in father's daughter,

I guess."

How could she argue that, when Rikki had tossed Zane out

of her life for the same reason?

Before she could say any more, though, Tabitha glanced at

the clock. "Come on, let's go. She can't bitch about us going in

first if she didn't bother to show up on time."

Rikki didn't even have to ask who _she _was. It was 11 a.m.,

Deborah wasn't here, and nobody would keep them from their

father's side.

_Leslie Kelly 203_

Reaching his room and gingerly pushing the door open,

Rikki held her breath. She expected him to look near death.

Pale and exhausted, weak, stuck with wires and probes and surrounded

by machines.

He _was _stuck with wires and probes and surrounded by

machines, and he did look tired and pale…but not at all on the

verge of death. Instead, as he saw them standing in the doorway,

he smiled and slowly lifted a hand. "My girls."

They flew to his side and cried like babies. Both of them. The

Ice Queen and the Rich Bitch, sitting on either side of their

father, holding his hands and sobbing their eyes out.

Which he quickly got bored with. "Enough. I'm fine. Stop or

you'll soak my sheets. If the nurses think I wet this bed, I'll never

be able to show my face at a hospital fund-raiser again."

Sniffling, Rikki managed a smile.

"What's going on? I'm dying for news," he said, trying to

sound normal, though his weakness was underscored by the

softness of his voice and the lines of fatigue and pain on his face.

"Everything's fine," Rikki said.

"Absolutely fine," her sister agreed.

"The wedding?"

Tabby stared at him, and Rikki read the anguish there.

"You are going through with it, aren't you? Don't you dare

let this—" her father waved to his own limp body "—stop you

from proceeding." Then, looking up at the ceiling, rather than at

the bride, he added, "_If _you really want to marry him at all, that

is."

Tabby sucked in a surprised breath. Rikki, who'd known her

father had been having doubts, did not.

"If you _don't, _feel free to use your old man's weak ticker as

an excuse to get out of the whole mess."

Tabitha just stared, her eyes huge in her pale face, not saying

a single word.

_204 Slow Hands_

Dad didn't push it. "Poor Deborah, she's not here?"

"I'm sure she'll be here any minute," Rikki said. "We just

took advantage of the fact that we beat her by a few seconds."

"Perhaps."

"She was very worried," Tabby admitted, albeit grudgingly.

"I'm sure she was." Closing his eyes and sinking deeper into

the pillow, he mumbled, "Don't judge her…I've been quite

unkind to that woman."

Remembering what their stepmother had said—about how

her husband had encouraged her to go have an affair—Rikki

could only exchange a stricken glance with Tabitha.

"Shh, it's okay." Tabby stroked her father's thinning gray

hair.

"I don't love her, you see." His eyes closed, his words drifting

into little more than a whisper, as if he was speaking more to

himself than to them. "I'm not sure who said it, but it's true. The

only thing worse than being in a loveless marriage is being in

one where there is love on only one side. You'd think I'd have

learned that by now."

"Stop it. She knew what she was doing," Rikki said, more

worried about her father's health than her stepmother's emotions.

"Besides, you _are _capable of love, Dad. Just look at _us. _There's

no doubt in Tabby's mind, or in mine, that you love us every bit

as much as we love you."

A different kind of love—but she wouldn't allow her father

to wallow in self-recrimination, not when he needed to recover.

Her words seemed to surprise him. His eyes flew open. "Oh,

of course I'm capable of love, darling." His frail hands slid across

the thin hospital blanket, so he could grasp his hands around one

of each of his daughters'. "I have loved greatly."

_And often._

"That's the problem, you see," he added, his fingers loosening,

as if the effort to clench their handswas too much. "Like many

_Leslie Kelly 205_

others in my family—your grandmother, who lived alone for

decades, my brother, always looking for the one he foolishly let

get away—I'm at the mercy of my own heart." He lightly tapped

his chest. "Which is, perhaps, a bit weaker than I'd supposed."

"What are you saying?" Tabby asked, in visible confusion.

He smiled up at his oldest daughter, who shared his bright

blue eyes. "I cared for your mother, but we were young. Neither

of us went into it for the right reasons."

Tabitha nodded, conceding the point. "I know."

"And I quite enjoyed many relationships with others over the

years." Then he glanced at Rikki and his eyes moistened, as if

tears were threatening. "But the truth is, we Chadwicks are only

capable of one _real _love."

Rikki sucked in a breath. She'd never heard her father talk

this way, not in her entire twenty-eight years. And while for a

brief moment, she wondered if his medication had confused

him, she had to acknowledge that his gaze was clear; his voice—

though weak—held certainty and conviction.

"It's a blessing and a curse in our family, but it's true. We can

only manage it once. One great love, never to be forgotten, never

to be replaced, not even if we end up entirely alone." He reached

up and brushed his shaking hand across Rikki's cheek. "You

break my heart and you fill it, every time I look into your eyes

and see her there."

And suddenly she understood the words he was saying. The

truth he'd never admitted before. Her father wasn't guilty of

loving too briefly, or too shallowly.

The greatest tragedy of his life was in having loved _so _much

he could never say goodbye.

"You're doomed, I'm afraid, both of you. So be vigilant,

listen to your heart," he said, sighing deeply. "And when you do,

savor every moment, don't waste a second of it. I pray you won't

be like me. I found the other half of my heart and have spent

_206 Slow Hands_

twenty-four years trying to fill the time until I can be with her

again."

Tears flowed freely down Rikki's face. Of all the moments

in her life when she'd regretted having lost her mother, this was

the most poignant.

Their father reached for Tabby's hand again, regarding her

with sad eyes. "You've found the wrong one, darling…again and

again, trying so hard and hoping each time will be better than

the last." Then he turned his attention to Rikki. "And you, my

sweet girl, have closed yourself off completely, never allowing

yourself to believe you'll _ever _find the right one."

"Oh, Dad," Rikki whispered, her heart breaking for him

more with every word he spoke.

There was, she knew, one gift she could give him, to help ease

his worry, perhaps to help him heal. Just one secret…but the most

important one of Rikki's life. "You're wrong, you know."

He merely waited.

"I've already found him," she said, then bent to press a soft

kiss on his forehead.

He stared at her, seeing the truth there. "I'm so glad," he

whispered. "So very glad." Then he fell asleep, looking comfortable

and relaxed as his breathing continued evenly, steadily.

Rikki and her sister stared at their father, then across his bed

at each other. The shock and grief for the long, lonely years their

father had endured had to have been written just as clearly on

Rikki's face as it was on Tabitha's. And, from both of them,

maybe even sadness for the women who'd hoped to refill the vast

empty wells of his heart that, to this day, mourned for Magdalena.

A nurse intruded, informing them their time was up. They

rose in unison; each bent to kiss their father's cheek before

walking out of the room together.

"I've got to go," Tabby murmured, her voice having lost that

_Leslie Kelly 207_

anxiety—the sadness and guilt she'd been carrying when she'd

arrived here this morning. "I have a wedding to cancel and a

fiancé to jilt."

Unable to stop herself from smiling, Rikki grabbed her sister's

hand. "Me, too. I've got three words to say to an amazing man."

The love of her life. She no longer had a single doubt about

it. And she would make sure he didn't, either.

"HEY, WALLACE, somebody's here to see you!"

Zane looked up from the medical kit he'd been restocking in

the supply room, surprised that one of the guys had come back

here looking for him. He wasn't even supposed to be on duty

today. He'd taken the day off for a woman who didn't trust him

enough to let him escort her to a family wedding, much less to

love her. But staring at the four walls of his apartment had soon

driven him batty and he'd come to the station house, determined

to do a little restocking and catch up on some paperwork.

"Who is it?"

The guy, one of the newer firefighters, wagged his eyebrows.

And Zane knew.

He shoved the case of sterile bandages he'd been holding back

into the storage closet, slammed the door shut, and strode out to the

front of the station. Rikki stood right outside, her beautiful, dark

hair shimmering in the brilliant June sunshine. Her arms wrapped

around herwaist, shewas dressed, not in her wickedly sexy bridesmaid

dress, but in a simple jean skirt and brightly colored blouse.

The wedding, he figured, must have been postponed. No

surprise there. He couldn't imagine his own sister going through

with her wedding if something happened to their father. But given

the identity of the bride and groom, he hadn't been entirely sure.

"Hey," he said when he reached her side. "You all right?"

She tilted her head back and looked up at him, a gentle smile

widening those beautiful lips. "I'm fine."

_208 Slow Hands_

"Your father?"

"Fine, too."

Then they fell silent. She'd come here to say something—he

didn't have it in him towork up the hope that it could be something

he truly wanted to hear. That she was wrong—so wrong—to put

those self-protective walls around herself again. That she knew

he'd never hurt her and was ready to admit she loved him, too.

But she said nothing.

"I guess the wedding's been postponed?"

She shook her head.

"Oh. Do you, uh, still need an escort?"

"Yes," she murmured, then cleared her throat. "Yes. I need

an escort."

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I left my tux back

at my apartment." Glancing at his watch, he said, "Look, I'll go

get it and…"

"No," she said, putting her hand over his mouth to shut him

up. "I don't need an escort to a wedding. It hasn't been postponed.

Tabby called it off. For good."

Sounded like one of the smartest things that sister of hers

had ever done.

Rikki traced the tip of her finger over his lips, then his jaw

and on down his neck before confessing, "But I still want the next

fourteen days you owe me."

"_What?"_

"And then I want fourteen _thousand _more."

The ground lurched beneath his feet. Or maybe it was just his

heart flipping around in his chest. Because that had sounded an

awful lot like…

"What I need is an escort for _life. _I want to be on your arm

forever, Zane, and I want you on mine," Rikki admitted, all

attempts to protect herself, evaporating under the bright summer

sky. "I want you sleeping beside me and waking up beside me.

_Leslie Kelly 209_

Walking with me, and holding me. Laughing with me, crying with

me, and keepingmefrom ever freezing up into _that _woman again."

"I love _that _woman," he said. "I loved her from the beginning.

And I love _this _one, too. I love every part of you, RikkiChadwick."

Stepping closer, until her body brushed his, she sent all his

nerve endings on alert, filling his head with her sweet scent and

his ears with her tender words. "I love you, too."

Her whisper sent the world spinning again, everything falling

into place, exactly where it belonged. Right and perfect and all

he'd ever dreamed of.

Rikki rose on tiptoe. "I love you so much and I don't ever

want to lose you." She smiled, such a sweet, heartbreaking smile.

"I've finally allowed myself to believe it."

"I'm so glad," he whispered, bending to brush a soft kiss on

her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him

back, her tongue mating with his, oblivious to time and place and

anybody around them.

When the kiss finally ended, she didn't pull away, remaining

wrapped in his embrace. "You should know, I won't ever let you

go. Even if the world ended tomorrow and we never saw each

other again…_I will never let you go._"

She didn't have to explain. He understood completely. They

were joined now. Through emotion and words and soon, he

knew, through vows and family. Joined for life.

"Rikki, didn't you learn that the night we met?" he asked

with a teasing kiss to her jaw. "I'll never let you get away from

me, either." Then all teasing faded. "I promise you."

"Well, then, I guess we have a deal," she said. Her eyes

twinkled with merriment and utter happiness. "Because I know

you're not a welsher."

He tilted his head back and laughed up at the sky. He was

happier than he'd ever been, more sure of the two of them being

together than of anything he'd ever done.

_210 Slow Hands_

And he was grateful—_very _grateful—to Fate, or whoever it

was that had made _him _the man she'd chosen that night.

The one she'd chosen for life.

.


End file.
